The Night of the Diabolical Dowager
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: Jim & Artie have babysitting duty during the visit of an Eastern European prince. But things take a nasty turn when the king back home is assassinated and their easy assignment turns out to be anything but.
1. Teaser

**Author's Notes:**

_This is my second story involving characters from the fictitious Eastern European nation of Pterovnia, the first being The Night of the Kiss of Death._

_I've tried to translate all foreign words within the context of the story, but just in case anything is unclear, a vocabulary of the Pterovnian words used in this story is posted on my profile page._

**The Night of the Diabolical Dowager**

**Teaser ~~~~**

"What do you think, Jim?" said Artie. "Is this a real assignment, or just a babysitting job?"

James West gave a philosophical shrug. He and his partner Artemus Gordon were dressed to the nines as they walked up to the gates of the Pterovnian Embassy in Washington DC. "Oh, I wouldn't mind an occasional babysitting job. But you know what usually happens."

"Yeah. It all starts out nice and simple, and then something happens and suddenly lives are at stake."

Again Jim shrugged. "Well, that's life as we know it, working for the Secret Service."

"You got that right!" Artie agreed.

The two agents presented themselves at the gate. A pair of guards checked their credentials, then admitted them, one of the guards intoning in a heavy Eastern European accent, "Gentlemen, welcome to Pterovnia."

As the two Americans walked on up to the Embassy, Artie looked back at that guard and gave a theatrical shudder, muttering to Jim sotto voce, "Oughta put that guy on the stage and have him play the ghost of Hamlet's father. He sure would give the audience the chills!"

They mounted the steps to the ornate front door, which was opened at their approach. "Mr West! Mr Gordon!" said a familiar voice. "Welcome, welcome! Do come in!"

"It's good to see you again, Count Mechtenko," said Jim, while Artie expressed much the same sentiment, save in the Pterovnian tongue.

"The Ambassador will see you immediately," said the count, graciously gesturing them inside. "I trust you gentlemen are keeping well?" he added as he escorted the Americans through the embassy.

"Very well, thank you."

"And you?"

"Ah, well, as you can imagine, we are living with quite a bit of excitement at the moment. Here we are, my friends." The count, who was the Pterovnian ambassador's personal secretary, opened the door to the ambassador's private office and announced them, then bowed and withdrew.

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed the ambassador. He was a distinguished gray-haired man, middle-aged, and beginning to be inclined toward portliness. He greeted West and Gordon graciously, then led them from his office and on deeper into the embassy. "How good it is to see you again!" he said.

"It's good to see you again as well, Ambassador Zelnurmofko," said Jim.

"And how is the family?" asked Artie.

"Ah, my daughter Anje is growing up so!" said the ambassador proudly. "I receive letters from her every week telling me of this young man or that young man, a different one in each letter, so it seems. She is happy back home living in the capital city Ljuko, and in her most recent letter, knowing you would be visiting me here, she asked to be remembered to you both. Her memories of you, she assures me, are very fond."

"As are ours," said Jim.

Artie smiled. "Sweet kid," he said.

"Not so much a 'kid' anymore, Mr Gordon. She is old enough to marry, you know, and I believe she keeps her tutor Dr Rodin very busy, ah… how is it you Americans put it? Beating off the suitors with a stick?"

Both agents laughed politely, then Artie inquired after the ambassador's wife.

Zelnurmofko's face fell a bit. "She is not so happy back home, I am afraid. And yet, as you know, where would she be happy anymore? She took the… loss… of our elder daughter Irenje very badly, very badly."

"We're so sorry, Mr Ambassador," said Jim, but the Pterovnian waved that away.

"No, no. There is nothing to apologize for. You did all you could, Mr West, Mr Gordon. Neither of you are responsible for Irenje's evil choices. Only she was responsible for that, and of course she paid the consequences as well."

And on that somber note they reached the reception room of the embassy. "Ah," said the ambassador, "but now you shall meet the one for whom you were invited here." He threw open the doors, proclaiming, "His Royal Majesty, Crown Prince Stepanko of Pterovnia!"

"Now how do I say 'Your Majesty' again, Artie?" Jim asked softly.

" '_Zartechko dujo_,' " Artie replied.

Jim whispered the phrase back, and when Artie nodded, West stepped into the room and said it aloud with a bow, Gordon following suit.

There were in fact two men in the reception room, the elder dressed in a military uniform, the younger in fine silks with many jewels. The younger smiled radiantly at the Americans and came forward to grasp their hands, a gesture of cheerful informality that evoked instant and obvious disapproval from the elder. "My friends!" said the young man warmly. "How good it is to meet you at last! My dear cousin Anje speaks highly of you, highly! I do hope that our trip to New Orleans will go much better than hers did."

"Yes, considering she never reached New Orleans," Artie muttered to Jim under his breath.

Turning to the man in uniform, the prince introduced him as, "My personal secretary, tutor, and all around factotum, Captain Koloshko."

"Read: bodyguard," Artie whispered to Jim, and then shook the captain's hand.

The ambassador himself poured the brandy, which, West and Gordon noted, the captain did not accept. He remained standing as well, strictly vigilant even here, deep in the heart of the embassy.

Prince Stepanko, on the other hand, relaxed with his snifter on one of the sofas, gesturing to the other men to "Sit! Sit!" Sampling the brandy, he nodded approvingly to the ambassador, then addressed himself to the Americans. "I understand that my trip here to your country comes at the wrong time of year for me to experience the joys of Mardi Gras at New Orleans, correct?"

"I'm afraid so, Your Majesty," Jim replied.

"Ah, what a pity, what a pity. Still, I hear many wonderful things about the city, and am looking forward to the opportunity to, ah, how do you Americans put it? To plant the wild seed?"

Artie gave a muffled snort and said, "Perhaps Your Majesty means 'sowing some wild oats'?"

Prince Stepanko grinned and pointed a richly bejeweled hand at Gordon. "Exactly! That is what I have had in mind. Not that _Vachko_ - my father, you understand - not that he needs to know of this, of course. The king would not approve of such activities, you know. _Vachko_ has forgotten what is it to be young. Something you gentlemen, I am sure, still remember."

"Oh, yes," Jim said, deadpan, "we certainly do remember what it is to be young."

"Yes," murmured Artie, striving to keep his eyes from rolling, "somewhere in the dim and misty memories of our long-ago youth…"

The door opened and the count entered discreetly, bowing to the prince before going to the ambassador and whispering in his ear. "Coded?" the ambassador responded to his secretary, and at the count's nod of affirmation, Zelnurmofko came to his feet. "You must excuse me, Your Majesty, gentlemen, but the embassy has received a transatlantic telegram which requires my attention. I will be only a few minutes, I trust." He bowed and followed the count from the room.

The prince grinned. "Oh dear. I suppose _Vachko _has thought of some more admonitions that he neglected to lecture me about before I left Pterovnia. Well, dear old Mijelko - did you know that is our ambassador's name? I believe in English it becomes Michael, yes? - dear old Mijelko will simply have to act as a surrogate father to me to lecture me on _Vachko's_ behalf, hmm?" He took another sip of his brandy. "Oh, but I am longing to see the celebrated Wanderer, the private train upon which you gentlemen live! Cousin Anje described it to me, and how I am looking forward to seeing it for myself! In my country we are still building our railroads, hoping soon to link up with Carpania and Ruritania on either side of us, and so join the greater European community in being able to move goods and people about as swiftly as you Americans do."

"That is not necessarily a good idea, my prince," said Captain Koloshko. "Perhaps along with the rapid transportation of goods and people will come as well the rapid spread of unrest."

Prince Stepanko wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Oh, Koloshko! You see plots everywhere and assassins under every rock! The railroad will be good for Pterovnia! It will bring our country fully into the nineteenth century along with the rest of Europe and with America! Our country will become great; our people will be happy. Why must you always think that evil will befall our nation?"

"You are still young, my prince, and know little of the evil that men can and will do." Koloshko hesitated, then added, "And if I may speak freely, my prince, I am glad I was sent along with you on this trip to America. You are not safe. I was against this voyage from the very start, and would prefer that you return at once to our homeland!"

The prince chuckled. "Good old Koloshko! Trust you to rain sunshine and roses upon my every step!" He took some more brandy, then waved a hand at West and Gordon. "With such excellent American Secret Service agents supplementing your care over me, dear captain, I cannot help but be as safe as a baby in its cradle. I am as safe with the three of you watching over me here as I ever was back home in Ljuko with _Vachko_." Prince Stepanko laughed again and raised his glass once more.

The door crashed open. All four men in the room whirled to look at it, the two Americans leaping to their feet as the captain reached for his sidearm. And there in the doorway stood the ambassador. He looked dreadful, as if he had aged ten years in the few minutes since he had last been in this room. He wavered on legs that had lost their strength, his hand clutching for the door frame and only managing to grasp it on his third attempt. He now leaned against it heavily, his whole body shaking.

"Why, Mijelko!" cried the prince, aghast. "What is wrong?"

Now the count came hurrying up the corridor and caught the ambassador before he could collapse on the threshold. "Brandy!" he called, and Artie fetched the ambassador's snifter to him. The count held it to Zelnurmofko's mouth and helped him to take a sip.

The ambassador waved the brandy away and struggled to regain his feet. West and the count helped him up and to a chair, where the prince knelt by the man's side. "Mijelko, what is wrong?" the young prince asked again.

A few broken words in Pterovnian escaped Zelnurmofko's lips, and Prince Stepanko leapt to his feet. "No!" he cried. "No! _Njede! Njede! Vachko! Vachko mujo!"_ And the young man collapsed on the sofa, burying his head in his hands.

Jim turned to Artie, who looked as pale as if he'd seen a ghost. "What did he say?" Jim asked.

"He said, 'No! No! Father! My father!' "

"Artie, not the prince. What did the ambassador say?"

Artie passed a hand over his face. "Huh? Oh, I… I'm sorry, Jim. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of shock." He swallowed hard. "What the ambassador said was that the telegram he went to decode has come from the capital in Pterovnia. There's been an explosion aboard the royal yacht." He paused and met Jim's eyes before finishing with, "King Zerildko is dead."


	2. Act 1, Part 1

**Act One, Part One ~~~**

"I cannot believe it! It cannot be!"

"I'm very sorry, Your Majesty, but with the ambassador's permission for us to use the embassy's telegraph room, Mr Gordon and I have checked with our State Department, and they are receiving the same information out of Ljuko from a number of independent sources. Your father, along with the crew of the royal yacht, as well as a man named, ah…"

"Baron Ilishko Gorashko," put in Artie.

"Yes, Baron Gorashko as well. These men were all killed, I'm sorry to say, when the royal yacht exploded. Witnesses report…"

"Ilishko too?"

They turned to look at the ambassador once again. The poor man was leaning against the count, looking more ashen than ever. "Oh, it only gets worse!" he moaned.

"Who was Baron Gorashko?" West asked.

"One of _Vachko's_ closest friends," said Prince Stepanko. "_Vachko_ had sent him and his family to San Francisco to purchase land for a West Coast consulate. Your nation is so vast, gentlemen, and so many of our people have business out in California that _Vachko_ thought it wise to have a Pterovnian outpost over there." Turning to the ambassador, he said, "I was not aware that Ilishko had returned home to Pterovnia. He was conferring with _Vachko _perhaps?"

"My prince, I do not know," the ambassador replied. "If your father recalled him for any reason, we at the Embassy were not informed."

"Not informed? But I do not understand!" The young prince shook his head. "Why would Ilishko return home in such secrecy that even you and I were unaware of it? What can it mean?" Stepanko slumped onto the sofa, utterly bewildered.

Abruptly he sat up and looked about. "Oh! But what of Ilishko's family: Vazilje, Mireje, and Andreshko? Where are they? Have they been told?"

The count arose and bowed. "I will send wires to find out."

"Yes, and when you contact the Baroness Vazilje, please convey our condolences to her and the children," the ambassador directed.

"_Dasda, Marnko mujo_." And for the benefit of Mr West, he repeated it in English, "Yes, my lord," before hurrying away to the telegraph room.

"My prince," said Captain Koloshko, "you must of course now cancel your trip to New Orleans and return home to Pterovnia at once."

Prince Stepanko's shoulders sagged and he covered his face with his hands. "Oh dear, yes! Yes, you're right. I must go back at once and we must plan the state funeral and... Oh!" He looked up, his face a mask of tragedy. "But by tradition the funeral must take place within three days. I will never reach Ljuko in time!"

"Ah, _Zartechko dujo_," Artie said gently to His Majesty, "it's a delicate subject, I know, but as the funeral will be mostly, ah, symbolic, it can certainly be delayed until your arrival back home."

The prince groaned, burying his head in his hands again. "Oh, you are right! We will be burying an empty coffin, will we not?"

"_Teshnante djo_, _Zartechko dujo_," Gordon added. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I was indelicate."

"No apologies are necessary, Mr Gordon. You are right. There will be no need to rush the funeral."

"But there will be a need to hold the coronation as soon as possible, my king," said the captain.

"King!" That brought the young man's head snapping up again. "Oh no, please, don't start that! I had all these lovely plans to be the Crown Prince for years and years yet, attending the balls, romancing the ladies, being a royal dilettante, all that sort of thing. Now I shall suddenly have to be mature and responsible, and I'm not ready! No, no, don't start addressing me as 'my king' yet! Let me… let me get used to the thought first. I do not wish to be addressed as the king until the crown is officially placed on my head - and possibly that will be too soon!"

"Mr West, Mr Gordon," the captain said, turning his attention to them. "As there will now no longer be a trip to New Orleans, your services will no longer be required. I thank you on His Majesty's behalf."

West nodded and both agents made their farewells, leaving the reception room as quietly as possible. Artie held his tongue until after the count, his face pale and drawn, rushed up the corridor past them with the merest nod to acknowledge their presence, but once he felt he could speak freely, Artie leaned toward Jim and said, "Ever feel like we just got the ol' bum's rush?"

"We're outsiders, Artie. Strangers. The captain is simply doing his job, protecting the prince."

"I know, Jim. I just… well, I wish there was something more we could do, some way we could help. If only…"

A cry of "_What?_" interrupted him. Both men stopped in their tracks, exchanged a glance, then ran back up the hall to the reception room. They paused in the doorway, taking in the scene of the captain turning to scowl at their intrusion as the prince paced the floor, muttering to himself in Pterovnian, while the ambassador let a sheet of paper fall from his nerveless hand and sank to the floor.

"I… I am sorry, _Marnko mujo_," the count was saying as he once again helped the ambassador into a chair. "I cannot account for it either. But that is the communication we have received from the West Coast Consulate."

"You… you are sure this message came from… from…"

"I am sure of the signature_, _my lord. I do not know what is going on, but I do know from whom this telegram purports to be."

As the ambassador continued to shake his head in disbelief, Jim slipped into the room and picked up the paper. Glancing at it, he saw that the words were not in English, so he passed it to Artie, who looked it over as well. And then his eyes bugged out.

"What is it, Artie?"

"I'm not sure. If it's a trick, it's, well…" He cleared his throat, then read out the wire, translating as he went:

_Greetings, dear Mijelko. Hope you are well._

_Distressing news from Lyuko this day. Consultation with His Majesty regarding evidence of assassination plot against king recently canceled without explanation. Evidence still here at consulate. Conspirators high in government, I fear. Crown Prince also in danger. Not safe to speak by wire. These are evil days!_

_Shall I bring evidence to Washington, or will you send trusted courier? Danger lurks at every hand. Keep Prince safe. He must return to Pterovnia at once!_

Artie looked up at Jim. "And it's signed: Ilishko Gorashko, Consul General, West Coast Consulate."

"But that is not possible!" said the ambassador. "Unless… unless somehow the reports are wrong and Ilishko was not present?"

"I… I cannot account for it," said the count, apparently not aware that he was repeating himself.

"Whomever the telegram may have come from," said the captain, "I concur wholeheartedly with the admonition that the Crown Prince return home at once, and in the meantime, he must remain here in the Embassy. If His Majesty the king has been killed, without doubt the prince will also be a target. Only here within the Embassy walls will the prince be safe!"

The prince waved Koloshko to silence. "Return home I must, of course, but hide cowering within this Embassy? No, that I will not do. I…" The young man rubbed at his forehead, thinking, then shook his head some more. "But this makes no sense! What can it all mean? Is Ilishko still alive? And is it possible… Well, if Ilishko was not killed, is it possible that _Vachko _may have escaped with his life as well?" He looked at everyone in the room, a light of hope in his eyes that perhaps this nightmare would disappear and all would be again as it had been less than half an hour earlier.

But then the hope faded and he sank onto the sofa once more. "Oh!" he cried. "What am I to think? What am I to do?"

"You are to do as you have already planned, my prince," said Koloshko. "Return to Pterovnia with all haste, for the funeral and the coronation."

"But… but what of the evidence the telegram speaks of? That evidence may well hold the names of those responsible for _Vachko's _death! With that evidence in hand, I could…" Prince Stepanko broke off and stood up suddenly, drawing himself up straight and tall as a gleam of determination flamed up in his eyes. "I will go to San Francisco, to the West Coast Consulate. I will speak with Ilishko face to face, and I shall personally obtain the evidence he has collected."

"But, my prince!"

Stepanko waved him to silence. "_Njede_, Koloshko. What else can I do? Ilishko holds evidence of a plot again _Vachko_, the very plot which has apparently just succeeded! And shall I go home empty-handed, when I need only go on to San Francisco to receive that evidence? It is much closer and more convenient for me to go to the consulate now than it will be after I return to Pterovnia."

"But there is no need for Your Majesty to go and fetch the evidence personally!" Koloshko argued. "A prince is not a messenger boy! The ambassador I'm sure has any number of trusted couriers who could bring the evidence to your hand!"

For reply, the prince only lifted his head proudly and said, "But I, Koloshko, only had one father. I myself will go." He then turned to the Secret Service agents. "You were to take me to New Orleans aboard your train. Now I request that, instead, you take me to San Francisco. Will you?"

"We'll have to speak with Col Richmond first, Your Majesty," said Jim.

"I'm sure he'll be amenable though," added Artie.

"If you are determined to go then, my prince," said the captain stiffly, "I shall be ever at your side!" And he scowled anew at the Secret Service agents.

"Excellent!" said the prince. "It is all arranged. Mechtenko!"

"Yes, my prince?"

"Send a wire at once to the West Coast Consulate, announcing my impending arrival. I shall leave here at once!"

"Yes, my prince!" And the count hurried off to send the message.

…

"The message is sent, my lady," a voice reported, "and an answer has arrived." Bowing low, the servant passed over the telegram.

An elegant hand besprinkled with jewels received the slip of paper. "Ah, good, good! Excellent!" said the lady. "It is all coming together as I planned. Advise a prince to stay safe and run home, and naturally he will chafe against the advice and do the opposite!" To the servant, the lady ordered, "Go at once and see to it that everything is put into readiness!"

"Yes, my lady." The servant bowed and withdrew.

"There," said the lady to the shadowy figure at her side. "It is as I told you. He will come. He will come, and he will walk straight into our arms."

"Yes, my lady," a rough voice replied. "And once he is here…" The voice began to chuckle.

"Yes! Once he is here, once it dawns on him what we are up to - if indeed what we are up to ever does dawn upon him - oh, by that time it will too late for him, far, far too late!" And the lady joined in the laughter, clapping her bejeweled hands.


	3. Act 1, Part 2

**Act One, Part Two ~~~**

"So much for our easy little babysitting job, huh, Jim?"

"Well, it's not exactly a surprise that things have worked out this way," Jim replied. He and Artie were on horseback, riding out from San Francisco to visit the Pterovnian West Coast Consulate. The Wanderer had brought the two of them along with their guests, Prince Stepanko and Captain Koloshko, all the way across the continent as swiftly as possible. Now the Crown Prince and his retainer were ensconced in the finest hotel suite in the city while the two Americans made a scouting excursion.

Not that the prince had been happy with this arrangement. He was all for hiring a carriage and rushing out to the consulate immediately. It had taken the combined efforts of both Americans along with his own man as well to convince him that it was wiser to let West and Gordon go first to see if all was safe for the prince's visit.

"Safe! But this is my country's consulate! How will I not be safe?" Stepanko had objected, flabbergasted.

"Your father was on his own yacht in the heart of your own country, Your Majesty. Where should he have been more safe?" Jim had pointed out.

"Ah. I take your point, Mr West," the young monarch had conceded. And so he and Koloshko had remained in the suite while Jim and Artie rode out.

"Strike you as strange, Jim?" asked Artie as they continued toward the consulate.

"The fact that the consulate is out in the countryside rather than somewhere within San Francisco itself? Yes, very strange."

Both men paid attention to the terrain as they traveled, making mental notes of areas that would make good spots for an ambush to be laid, keeping track too of any neighboring homesteads, but there were precious few of these. At length they came to a tall masonry wall topped by ornate spikes, though the purpose of those spikes, they knew, was not at all the decorative aspect of them. They continued riding and inspecting the area, eventually reaching a great gate of intricate wrought-iron tracery. They rode on past this though, continuing their inspection, until they came to the far corner of the wall. Here they reined up and Jim produced a spyglass. He surveyed the length of the wall, then passed the telescope to Artie.

"Stretches back a good long way, doesn't it?" said Artie. "All the way to those hills." He snapped the spyglass closed, then handed it back.

"I had in mind us riding the whole perimeter first," said Jim.

In reply, Artie grimaced and shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

Jim grinned. "That's what I thought you'd say. All right, let's head back to the gate." He reined Blackjack around and started off.

"Bless you, James my boy!" Artie said happily and followed.

Soon they were before the gate again. Beyond it they could see a winding road disappearing amongst a lush collection of native flora. There was a small guardhouse within the wall alongside that road, but no guard was in view. To the side of the gate was a bell, so Jim took hold of the dangling bell pull and rang it.

Moments later the guardhouse door opened and out stepped three people in uniform. And while the two agents had of course been expecting that to happen, these particular guards took them by surprise. It wasn't the uniforms that startled them, even if they were an eye-stunning shade of chartreuse with gray piping anywhere and everywhere piping could possibly be included, both on the waist-length jackets and the form-fitting trousers. It wasn't the foot-tall shakos adorned with pheasant feathers either, not the fact that two of the guards emerged from the small building with their rifles already aimed directly at their visitors' hearts. No, the one fact that caught both Jim and Artie completely by surprise was that all three of the consulate guards were women.

The one in the middle, the only one who wasn't holding a weapon on the men, the one whose face strongly resembled a bulldog, stepped slightly forward of the others and spat out a few Pterovnian words in a harsh, rough voice.

Jim leaned toward Artie. "What did she say, that we should state our business?"

Artie nodded and replied to her, then told Jim, "I said we've come representing the prince."

The guard's eyes narrowed and she growled out something more.

"Wants to know where the prince is?" asked Jim.

Artie again nodded and again replied.

"And you told her that he's waiting for our report on what we find here at the consulate," Jim guessed.

"Mm-hmm. Very good, James, very good. Care to guess at her next response?"

"I don't need to," said Jim. For the guard in the middle, after considering the two men narrowly, barked out an order to the others and they lowered their guns. She gave another order, and now one of the flanking guards came forward. She reached through the bars of the gate and collected the men's credentials, then brought them back to her superior officer and handed them over.

The chief guard scrutinized the identifications closely, then pored over the letter of introduction the prince had sent along with them. At length she nodded, gave back the papers, then waved a hand at the gate. Now both of her attendants came forward, one of them to return the credentials while the other unlocked the gate. The two guards tugged the gate open to permit the agents entry. Each man touched the brim of his hat to the women politely, which only earned them glares.

"We are not play-toys to be smiled at!" the chief guard growled out in English, her accent strong and thick. "Do not patronize us!" She added something in her native tongue, and now another guard, also a woman, appeared from behind the guardhouse, leading a horse. As the pair of guards at the gate locked up again, the chief guard mounted her horse and made a perfunctory gesture at the guests, saying, "_Veshte djozí!_"

Artie leaned toward Jim. "That means…"

" 'Follow.' Yeah, I guessed."

They followed, riding along the twisting trail. There were occasional well-disguised coverts, some of them manned - womaned? Artie wondered - by more of the guards, though these were dressed in more muted uniforms. It took a good three minutes to ride up from the gate to the consulate building itself. The chief guard then reined up, lifting a hand to order the men to do the same.

Stable boys, er, _girls _ran out from the corralled structure off to the right, taking the horses away after the three riders dismounted. With a scowl, the chief guard commanded, "You wait here!" She then stalked up the stairs into the consulate and the door shut loudly behind her.

"I take it back," Artie murmured to Jim. "_That's_ the one who ought to play King Hamlet's ghost." He then fell silent as he and his partner looked around, making mental notes on the layout of the grounds.

Beyond the stables to the right they could see training grounds where more women in uniform were practicing marching, riding, shooting, and other such military pursuits. In front of the agents was the consulate itself, an imposing building with a wide colonnade that strongly resembled the façade of an ancient Greek temple. Indeed, the triangular tympanum in the pediment above the porch bore a sculptured relief of a regal-looking woman, crowned and enthroned, flanked by cows and peacocks. Closer to the men, on either side of the marble stairway the chief guard had recently climbed, were a pair of graceful statues. The one on the left was of a stern-faced young woman in ancient Greek attire, a helmet on her head, a shield on her arm, a sword at her side, and an owl on her shoulder. The statue to the right also depicted a young woman in ancient Greek clothing, but her skirt was shorter, her weapons a bow and quiver, and she was in a running stance, accompanied by a leaping stag.

"Hera," said Artie, indicating the regal woman above the portico. "And the one with the owl is Athena…"

Jim gave a small smile. "Yes, and I suppose you posed for that one, Artie," he said, pointing to the hunting woman.

"Oh ha ha ha, Jim. You know my opinion of my namesake. Any woman who would set the hounds on a man simply for accidentally walking in on her naked, that's a woman I'd prefer to stay far, far away from!"

At that moment, from off to their left where lay a tranquil ornamental garden, came a cry of "Oh!" as something rocketed toward the agents, hitting a tree just beyond them. Jim spotted the item, a baseball, and scooped it up. From the gardens came running a young teenager dressed in a deep purple velvet suit of jacket and knickerbockers, with long dark ringlets bounding about the child's shoulders. The youngster, carrying a baseball bat in one hand, came to a halt in front of the agents and said, "_Teshnante djozí!_ I am so sorry, gentlemen! Señora Reyes pitched the ball to me and I did not expect when I hit it that it might endanger anyone! You are all right?"

"Yes, we're fine," said Jim, tossing the ball back.

The child dropped the bat to field the ball. "_Kedurshte djo _- that is to say, Thank you." Transferring the ball from right hand to left, the teen then offered the right to Jim, saying, "How do you do, sir? My name is Andreshko Gorashko."

Jim shook the hand while Artie said, "Ah, Andreshko - that's Pterovnian for Andrew, isn't it?"

"_Dasda!_" said the child cheerfully. "I mean to say, Yes!" and shook hands with Artie as well.

Jim's eyebrows arched.

"Something is wrong?" the boy asked, now looking worried.

"Oh no, no, nothing's wrong. It's only that you're the first male we've seen in this place."

A petite woman dressed entirely in black, including the lace mantilla covering her dark hair, came hurrying up out of the gardens now, followed by an ethereal vision of loveliness with creamy pale skin set off by her ebon-hued dress, a large book cradled in her hands. Andreshko made a sweeping gesture at the two women and introduced them as, "My sister Mireje," and she was the ethereal vision, "and our governess, Señora Reyes," and she was the black crow. "And you are…?" the boy prompted.

"James West."

"Artemus Gordon."

The governess nodded at the agents, then pulled the boy to one side, scolding him in Spanish sprinkled with Pterovnian. While Artie attempted to placate the woman by assuring her that no harm had been done, Jim smiled at the charming Mireje and said, "You enjoy Russian novels?"

"Why, yes," she said, her voice and accent as pleasant as her face. "But how did you know?"

"I guessed," he admitted easily. "That's a very thick book, and Russian authors are noted for their lengthy novels."

"True. But it could have been, say, a Victor Hugo, or an Alexandre Dumas, or perhaps something by Charles Dickens," she pointed out.

"Perhaps. But the Cyrillic lettering on the spine tends to support the theory that the book is Russian. Is it?"

She smiled. "In fact, yes. Tolstoy. You enjoy Tolstoy, sir?"

"Jim," he corrected, then added with a twinkle in his eye, "And I have it on very good authority that Tolstoy is an excellent soporific."

Shocked, Mireje exclaimed, "Soporific! Why, whoever told you such a thing?"

"A young lady of your country, Miss Mireje, by the name of Anje Zelnurmofje."

"Oh, Anushche! She is my cousin! But why would she think that of Tolstoy?"

A feminine clearing of a throat drew their attention to the governess, who now had Andreshko firmly by the wrist as he endeavored to hold on to his baseball equipment. "_Veshte dje_, my lady," said Señora Reyes, and she swiftly led the children away into the gardens and out of sight.

"Is she another candidate to play King Hamlet's ghost?" Jim asked quietly.

"What, _la señora? _No, Jim, of course not!" Artie replied. "No, her I would cast as Lady Mac… that is, as the Scottish lady." He paused and rubbed at the back of his neck before adding, "By the way, Jim, _la señora _was not happy with the attention you were paying to Mireje."

Jim grinned. "I'm afraid _la señora _will just have to resign herself to the fact that her young charge is going to be attracting male attention wherever she goes."

"Mm," Artie agreed. "But not, I think, here at the consulate."

"Right." Jim took another look around the grounds. "Strange that there are no men here. Only the two of us and Andreshko."

"And presumably the consul as well."

"Unless he's dead in Pterovnia, yes."

The door of the consulate now opened and the bulldog-faced chief guard emerged, followed by a pair of women bearing long trumpets. To the agents' unbelieving eyes and ears, these proceeded to raise the instruments to their lips and play a fanfare. Upon the conclusion of the blaring flourish, an august woman stepped out onto the portico, attended by a set of five women who were undoubtedly her entourage. One of the trumpeters announced ringingly, "My lady the Baroness Vazilje Gorashche of Pterovnia!" The baroness, dressed in a silken gown of emerald green, no doubt to accentuate her auburn hair, lifted her nose on high as she looked down upon the Americans. She scowled at them and said, in a voice dripping with hauteur, "Whoever are you?"

Once again James and Artemus introduced themselves, presenting their credentials, only to have the woman dismiss them with a wave of her hand. "You are not welcome here. You are not necessary. Only His Majesty the Crown Prince Stepanko and his retinue are expected."

"_Zernkje muje_," said Artie politely, "for the time being, Mr West and I are members of the prince's retinue."

A scoffing noise escaped the woman. "You! You are Americans. Only Pterovnians may properly attend His Majesty. You are nothing but _tuvnjekozí!_"

"My lady," said Jim, following Artie's polite lead albeit in English, "I'll remind you that here in America, we have no noble class, and therefore no peasants either."

She gave a small chuckle. "Oh! So you know a little of the Pterovnian tongue, do you?"

"Enough to know when I'm being insulted, yes ma'am." His eyes met hers and did not look away.

Her own eyes narrowed. "And I will remind you, American, that the ground upon which you now stand is not 'here in America' as you put it, but the sovereign soil of Pterovnia, upon which you and your friend are not welcome!" Turning to her chief guard, she gave an order in her own language, at which the uniformed woman saluted and strode off toward the stables.

"She just ordered us our horses," Artie murmured to Jim.

As soon as the animals were brought forth to the men, the baroness pointed theatrically toward the gate. "Go!" she demanded. "Go and never return! And carry to our prince the message that we gladly await his presence, for this land is his land and this house his house."

"Before we go," said Jim, "may we please speak with the consul himself?"

"Yes, the Baron Ilishko Gorashko, please?" put in Artie. "Your husband? The one who is actually in charge of the consulate?"

Fury lit the baroness' face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then instead whirled and stalked away, reentering the consulate with all her women save the chief guard. The door slammed behind her.

Mounting up on her own horse, the guard gave her by-now customary order of, "_Veshte djozí!_" and barely gave the men time enough to get on Blackjack and Henry before she set out back down the winding road, preceding them to the gate.

"Well! How pleasant to be kicked out of Pterovnia!" said Artie as the gate closed behind them and they set off to return to San Francisco. "See if I call that woman 'my lady' ever again!" he declared.

"And what role would you cast her in, Artie?"

He snorted. "Any role that calls for wholesale scenery chewing! Great Scott, what a ham she is!"

"She didn't like the idea of producing the consul," Jim observed.

"No, she certainly didn't." Artie glanced back at the wall they were yet passing, then murmured, "I suppose the clothing her children were wearing caught your attention?"

"Dark colors, yes. As if in mourning."

"She, on the other hand, was obviously _not _dressed in mourning attire." He shook his head. "I don't like this, Jim."

"I don't either, Artie. And I sincerely doubt if our friend Captain Koloshko will like it any more than we do."


	4. Act 1, Part 3

**Act One, Part Three ~~~**

"Ah, yes, Mireje and Andreshko," said Prince Stepanko. "They are my cousins. I have not seen them for some time now - perhaps, oh, ten years? Twelve?" With a nostalgic smile, he added, "Ah, but Mireje was such a leggy little tomboy back then! And Andreshko hardly more than an infant, toddling about…"

"Your pardon, my prince, but this is hardly helping," said the captain, interrupting him.

"Oh, but of course, you are right," said the prince agreeably. "And Ilishko? There was no sign of him?"

"None, Your Majesty," said Jim. He and Artie then reported to the prince their suspicions regarding the colors of the children's clothing.

"Hmm…" Stepanko sank onto the sofa and fell into a brown study.

Koloshko turned to the Secret Service agents. "And the evidence the telegram spoke of? You did not at least return with that?"

"No," said Jim, and Artie chimed in with, "The baroness would barely speak with us. We didn't have an opportunity to put in a request for the evidence."

"She will speak to the prince, and to him only," Jim finished.

Koloshko slammed a hand onto a table loudly, causing Artie's sketch book to nearly bounce off into the floor. "Bah! This is getting us nowhere! My prince, if you will take my advice, you will give up this fool's errand and return home immediately!"

Stepanko lifted his eyes to meet the captain's steadily. "If this is a fool's errand, then I am the fool who is on it! I will not leave without the evidence regarding the murderers of my father!"

"But this whole affair stinks of a trap!" cried Koloshko.

"I must agree with the captain," said Jim, and Artie concurred as well.

"A trap, a trap, so what if it is a trap?" said the prince. "What am I to do? How are we to gain the evidence when the baroness insists on speaking with me only?"

"Perhaps she would consent to meeting you here at the hotel?" said the captain. "Or some other neutral territory?"

"Hmm… that is possible." The prince thought it over for a moment, then said, "Captain, take a letter…"

"Of course, my prince. The stationery is in the other room here." Koloshko gestured toward an interior door, and both he and the prince left the anteroom of the suite to attend to the writing of the letter.

"Do you suppose that will work?" said Artie.

"I doubt it," Jim replied. "From what little I've seen of the baroness, she won't want to come out and meet on neutral ground, especially as it will be on American soil. She feels that she has a strong advantage if the meeting is at the consulate, in effect in Pterovnia, and she's not likely to give that up."

"Yeah," said Artie, "I'll bet she…"

There came a knock at the door.

Artie, being closest, went to answer it, then smiled in recognition at the figure in the doorway. "Why, Señora Reyes! How nice to see you here! To what do we owe this pleasure?"

The little black-swathed governess peered into the room before entering, leveling a sudden scowl at Jim when she spotted him. She hurried in, and as Artie closed the door behind her and gestured her to the sofa, she clutched her carpet bag to her bosom and said, "May we speak freely here?"

"Of course, señora," said Jim.

She shot him a glare, then turned to the other man. "And no one else is here? No one may overhear us?"

"Well, this is the prince's suite," said Artie. "He's in the next room here, if you'd like to meet him."

He started for that door, but the governess shook her head vigorously. "No no no! I do not wish anyone to see that I am here!"

Jim and Artie glanced at each other. "All right."

She now accepted the seat Artie had offered her, settling her carpet bag on the floor by her feet. Leaning forward, her eyes on Artie, she said, "The prince is in great danger!"

"Yes, señora, that seems to be clear," said Jim, earning himself yet another glare.

"We were told that Baron Gorashko is at the consulate, but he's dead, isn't he?" asked Artie.

She nodded. "Yes, he left over a month ago to return home and consult with the king. As he was leaving, I saw one of the attendants nearly drop a piece of his luggage. She caught it before it could hit the ground, but the baroness, her face as white as a sheet, screamed at the girl to be more careful. Seeing me there, the baroness said that the contents of that case were a gift for the king. I assumed she meant that it was something fragile, something easily broken. But then, when we received the official word of the king's death… that is, of the manner of his death…"

"By bomb, you mean," said Jim.

Her lips tightened, and she nodded.

Artie sat down by her side. "Oh, but I doubt if what was in the case could have been a bomb, señora. Would they really have shipped an armed bomb all the way from the consulate to Pterovnia?"

"I do not know. I…" She looked up into Artie's eyes. "I only know what I have seen and heard at the consulate in these two years that I have been the children's governess. The baroness…" and she shook her head, "she is… _¡ella está loca!_"

"She's crazy?" said Jim, seating himself in the chair opposite the little woman.

She looked him over, then turned to Artie again. "_¡Sí, muy loca!_ She… she hates men. She hated her husband, but not only him. When she interviewed me for my position, she said that the fact that I was widowed counted in my favor, and hinted that it would count even more in my favor if I had murdered my José!" She shuddered strongly.

"And you took the job after that?" said Artie.

"But of course! The poor _niños_, to have such a mother as that, they needed someone to counteract her madness!"

"And you say the prince is in danger," said Jim.

She frowned at him and did not answer.

Jim caught his partner's eye, and Artie said, "Ah, excuse us, señora_._ _Con permiso_." He and Jim drew aside into a far corner of the room.

"What's her problem?" said Jim.

Artie shook his head. "Well, I did notice back at the consulate that she was giving you the evil eye for flirting with Mireje…"

"And she's holding that against me?"

"From what she just said, apparently she feels that the baroness is unsuitable as a mother, so she's…"

"…taken over and is playing mother hen herself, hmm?" Jim shook his head. "Well, the fact that a man smiles at a girl doesn't necessarily mean he's plotting to run off with her."

"True, Jim." And with a twinkle in his eye, he added, "Shall I tell _la señora _that, or would you prefer to?"

Jim gave a snort of a laugh, then went back to his seat opposite the woman once more. Señora Reyes, he discovered, had taken advantage of the men's brief conference to pull some knitting out of her carpet bag. The steel needles were click-clicking against each other rapidly when Jim came back. "So you believe the prince is in danger," he said to her again.

And again she did not answer him.

Now Artie returned and repeated the same phrase to her, and lo and behold, she responded to him with, "_¡Ah, sí!_ If he sets foot in that house, there is no telling what will happen to him."

The two agents ruminated for a bit, then Jim said, "Señora, the reason the prince has come here is that he was promised some evidence the baron had supposedly collected regarding a plot against the king's life. Do you know anything about that?"

And when she answered him not a word, concentrating on her knitting, Artie said to her encouragingly, "Anything at all?"

She turned to him, hesitated a bit longer, then said, "I know that if anyone were plotting against the king, it would be she."

Both men shook their heads. "No, dear lady," said Artie, "not rumors, not speculations. Do you know of any evidence?"

"And by evidence, you mean…?"

"Papers," said Jim. "Anything written down. Anything physical that links her to the plot."

"That includes any bomb-making supplies," added Artie, "if indeed that case you saw carried a bomb."

"Well… there is a room. Not the usual office the baroness uses, but a secret room."

"A secret room?" That caught the agents' attention.

"_Sí_." Leaning close to Artie, the woman said, "While the consulate was being built - we lived in this very hotel at that time - often the baron would take us out to the site to see the construction. And the baroness would speak to the architect, furtively, you understand. His eyes would dart about and he would look nervous, and there were parts of the building away from which he would steer the baron, to keep him from inspecting them too closely, I think."

"But that's merely speculation again, señora," said Jim. And for a second the look she shot him made him wonder if the woman just might plunge those knitting needles into him.

He cut his eyes at Artie, who repeated Jim's statement.

"No, but I have seen it since," said the governess. "A certain linen closet. The baroness goes inside it and closes the door after her. I have seen her do this! Why would one close oneself up in a linen closet? And the door has a lock. Who locks away the linen? I am sure this is a secret room for her use."

"_Con permiso_," Artie said to the woman again as he and Jim drew apart to hold another private discussion. "What do you think, Jim?"

"I think the promised evidence doesn't exist."

"Me too."

"But that secret room is worth looking into."

"All right. How do you want to do this?"

"You check out the secret room, Artie, and try to find anything that points to the baroness having been involved in the assassination. I'll check the consulate for anything that will let us know what her future plans are, and why she made sure the prince would come to San Francisco."

They spoke together a bit longer, then returned to the petite widow.

"Señora," said Artie.

She paused in her knitting to look up at him.

He sat by her side once again. "Have you a suitor?"

She started. "Why… why no, Señor Gordon! Why should I have a suitor?"

He smiled at her. "Tonight, dear lady, you shall have one. And he shall look…" He picked up his sketch pad from the side table and made a swift drawing. "…like this."

She took the pad from him and studied the caricature of an older man, distinguished, his dark wavy hair shot with gray at the temples, an elegant set of waxed mustachios at his lips, and attired as a fine gentleman in a beautiful Mexican suit and sombrero. "Who is he?" she asked.

"_¡Ah, mi querida _Señora Reyes! _I _shall be he! Señor… ah, Don Pablo… Martínez. _¿Con permiso?_"

"You? But, but why?"

"In order for us to be able to enter the consulate," said Jim.

"Not to mention," Artie added, turning on the charm as he took the widow's hand in his and lifted it to his lips, "as an excuse to enjoy your beguiling company, _mi querida_. What is your first name?"

Stunned, she answered him, "Catalina."

"Ah. Tonight_, mi querida_ Catalina, Don Pablo Martínez shall present himself at the front gate of the consulate. Do your best to convince whomever you must to grant permission for him to enter, _¿por favor?_"

"I… _muy bien_. Very well," she said.

"_Perfecto_." And Artie winked at her.

Her free hand came up and covered her heart, and the ball of yarn fell on the floor and rolled away.

Quick as a wink Artie retrieved the yarn and pressed it into her hand. "_Hasta esta noche, mi querida,_" he intoned. "Until tonight, my dear."

She wrapped her knitting around the ball of yarn, stabbed the needles through the bundle, put it away in the carpet bag, and came to her feet - all without her eyes ever straying from Artie's face. "_Hasta esta noche, _Señor Gordon," she responded to him.

"Ah-ah-ah! ¡Señor Martínez_, por favor!_" he said, playfully winking at her yet again. "Or no. Even better, you must call me Pablo."

She gave a small laugh, echoed the name Pablo, then allowed herself to be led to the door and out.

Artie let out a huge sigh and leaned against the door. "Well, let's hope that works!"

With a nod at the door through which _la señora_ had departed, Jim said, "I do believe the woman giggled."

"Well," said Artie with a bob of his eyebrows, "I suppose I'm simply her type. And besides, a little flirting on my part just might distract her from whatever dallying you manage get in with the fair Mireje."

The interior door opened and the prince emerged. "Here is the letter," he said. "How do you propose to deliver it to the baroness?"

Jim took the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Change of plans, Your Highness."

"Yes," said Artie as the captain entered the room as well. "Let us fill you in…"

**End of Act One**


	5. Act 2, Part 1

**Act Two, Part One ~~~**

Señora Reyes laid her knitting bag down on the dresser in her room at the consulate and peered at the mirror to have a look at herself. She saw a thirty-four-year-old widow with what were beginning to be permanent frown lines across her forehead and down the sides of her mouth. She tried an experimental smile; to her, that only made matters worse. Whatever then had Señor Gor… ah, no, Señor Mar… no, _Pablo!_ What had he seen to attract him?

Nothing, she reminded herself severely. He merely needed a pretext to gain admission to the consulate, and she was that pretext, nothing more. How silly _los señores _must have thought her, giggling - actually giggling! - over Señor Gordon's sweet talk!

Well, it would be for this one evening only. He would arrive, she would show him where the suspicious linen closet was, and he would then, she hoped, find the evidence he needed to back up her allegations. Ah, but then what? Would they arrest the baroness? _Could _they arrest the baroness? Was she not the law here at the consulate? Was there anything the Americans could do?

What, thought Catalina Reyes, have I gotten myself into by going to the Americans!

The door opened and she whirled. She had locked that door!

Colonel Nevje, the chief guard, the bulldog-faced woman, stood in the doorway smirking at her. "So where have you been, Reyes?"

"I… went into the city."

"Did you? Why?"

Catalina tried to cover up her nervousness by picking up the knitting bag and moving it to another part of the room. Well, this was as good as time as any to begin trying to convince someone to permit Señor Gordon to enter, she supposed. "I… I have a suitor."

"A what!"

"I have met a gentlemen. His name is Señor Don Pablo Martínez. I have… I have invited him to come and see me here at the consulate. Tonight. He will come tonight."

She was not looking at Colonel Nevje; she could not. To meet anyone's eye at this point, Catalina knew, would betray that she was lying. And because she was not looking at the chief guard, she did not see the woman storm into the room. She knew nothing until her wrist was seized as Nevje whirled her around to face her.

Catalina cried out and tried to wrest her arm from the guard's iron grip. "What are you doing? How dare you?"

Nevje poured out a stream of Pterovnian curses upon the hapless governess, ending with, "You fool! How dare you invite a man here? The baroness will deal with you!" And she dragged the governess from her room, hauling her through the building to Baroness Vazilje's office. Once there, the guard all but flung the woman into the office; Catalina very nearly sprawled on the carpet.

The baroness looked up. "What is this, Nevje? What are you doing?"

With venom the chief guard spat out, "She has invited a suitor to come see her tonight, here at the consulate!"

"A suitor!" The baroness eyed the governess in disgust. "Is this so?"

By now Catalina's shock at being seized and yanked along through the corridors had given way to fury at such insulting treatment. The phrase "How dare they!" echoed and reechoed through her head as she drew herself up straight and glared at both women. "What if it is true? I am a widow. I may remarry if I choose. I am not so old that no man will ever want me again!"

Nevje, hearing that last statement as a mockery against the newly widowed baroness, raised an arm and backhanded Catalina across the face. Heatedly, the governess now fixed the guard with a withering look and proclaimed, "Nor am I so ugly that no man would ever look at me twice save with loathing!"

The chief guard's hand began to fly once more, but the baroness stopped her with a word. Coming around her desk, she circled the governess as the younger widow stood there, one hand covering her abused cheek. "So," said the baroness, "you have a suitor, do you?"

Wordlessly, Catalina nodded.

"But I am surprised! I should have thought that a woman who has escaped the cage that is marriage would not wish to be imprisoned again."

The governess watched the older woman continuing to circle her. She could not say, of course, that the idea of her having a suitor had been Señor Gordon's idea. But then the import of the baroness' words sank in and Catalina responded, almost without giving it any thought, "But I loved José. He was a good man."

"Good? Man? The words 'good' and 'man' do not belong together in the same sentence!" the baroness spat at her. She stopped now in front of the younger widow and studied her narrowly, shaking her head. "I begin to see that perhaps you are not fit to instruct my daughter," she said. "I hired you on the belief that you, as a widow, would understand what despicable creatures men are and would instill that knowledge in my daughter. I want her to know that men are not to be trusted, that men are evil beasts that women are well rid of, that men will use women and cast them aside, and any woman who turns that about to use men and cast them aside should be lauded as a heroine to her sex!" She whipped away, turning her back upon the governess.

Catalina stared at her. "But… but what of your husband? The baron was a fine and decent man. And what of your son? Do you regard Andreshko as despicable and evil? He is a sweet child, a smart child, a thoroughly charming little boy."

The baroness gave a bitter laugh. "Charming little boy! Oh, again you show your lack of understanding. Charming little boy, you say - but _all _men are charming little boys. Boys, indeed, for when do they ever truly grow up? But oh! how they pour forth the charm! They speak so sweetly and act so gallantly - until they have you trapped. And then, what are you, hmm? _Señora _Reyes… _Mrs _White… _Madame _Le Blanc… _Zerinje _Gorashche… some man's _wife_, no longer yourself, but merely an adjunct of _him!_ Yes, even I! I am not a baroness in my own right, but only because my husband was named a baron. But no more! I…!"

She fell silent. Into that silence, softly, almost in awe, the governess asked, "You what?"

The baroness drew herself up proudly and met the younger woman's eye steadily. With a laugh, she said, "I shall give you another chance, Governess. You may stay on and teach my daughter - and yes, my son as well! - for now. But rest assured, my dear, if you marry, you shall lose your position."

"But I would expect that," said Catalina. "Were I to have a husband again, would he not wish me to stay home?"

The flame that kindled in the baroness' eyes at that remark gave such a flash that the governess marveled that she was not consumed by it. And then the stately dowager calmed herself anew. "You may go, Governess. Go see to the children. You will be summoned when it is time for tonight's dinner."

Slowly Catalina crossed the room to the door. Pausing with her hand on the door knob, she ventured to ask, "And my suitor? Señor Don Pablo Martínez is his name. What of him?"

"He will be turned back at the gate!" snarled Colonel Nevje.

"No," said the baroness. "He will be welcomed. Any… friend of our governess is a friend of ours. He may take dinner with us this evening. Now see to the children."

Catalina stared at the baroness for a long moment, then nodded and left, closing the door behind her. Out in the hall, she leaned against the door for a moment and let out a long sigh before shaking her head uncertainly and pattering off to the children's suite.

The chief guard swung about to gape at the baroness. "He will be welcomed?" she blurted out, aghast.

Baroness Vazilje smiled; had Catalina seen this smile, it would have frozen the marrow in her bones. "Oh, but of course he will be welcomed, my dear Nevje! This Martínez fellow, he wishes to court a woman? By all means, let him!"

"I do not understand, my lady."

"That is because you have no imagination. But consider the little, ah, surprise our Ekatje has been preparing especially for the prince's visit. Hmm? We have had no man to try it out for us, to see if our prince will, ah, enjoy it."

The colonel began to laugh; it was a heavy, ugly sound. "Ah, I understand now, my lady! Forgive my confusion. Of course he will be welcome. He will be the, ah… the guinea fowl, yes?"

"Guinea _pig_, Nevje," the baroness corrected. "Yes. Yes, this Pablo Martínez shall be our guinea pig. And after he has put it to the test, we shall see what our governess thinks of him then."

"And after him, the prince."

"Yes, the prince. We need only to lure him here. But that will be soon now. Very soon." She laughed and cast a conspiratorial grin toward the colonel. "Very soon indeed!"

…

At six in the afternoon, a man presented himself at the gate of the Pterovnian consulate. He was dressed in the finest style of a Mexican don of the generation previous, before the state of California had passed into the hands of the United States of America. His suit was immaculate, his sombrero wide and highly decorated, his mustachios waxed to perfection and slightly curled at the tips. A touch of gray at his temples lent him an air of suave sophistication. As one of the women from the guardhouse came to the gate to question his presence, he drew himself up straight upon his fine chestnut gelding and proclaimed himself to be, "Señor Don Pablo Martínez, here to visit with the charming Señora Catalina Reyes, _por favor_. She is expecting me."

"_Momentito_, _señor_," said the pretty young guard.

Artie responded with a courteous nod, impressed that they had put a guard at the gates who knew some Spanish. He waited the little moment as she had requested he do, still holding himself tall and proud as would befit a man such as Don Pablo.

And now the guard returned and unlocked the gate for him. She pointed the way up the road, telling him to ride directly to the consulate. He nodded his thanks and headed for the building as the gate was locked again behind him.

Meanwhile, around the side of the great wall surrounding the consulate grounds, Jim West slipped silently along to take up a position where he was hidden from sight. He watched and listened, timing the passage of the guards on their rounds within the property, waiting for darkness to fall so that he too might enter this little outpost of Pterovnia.

…

Don Pablo stood within the anteroom of the consulate, waiting. A stable girl had taken his horse, another young female had opened the door to him and ushered him inside, and a third, who had taken his sombrero, now waited with him, surreptitiously keeping an eye on him while the one who had admitted him went to fetch Señora Reyes. His own eyes roamed the room inconspicuously, noting especially among the décor the presence of various weapons displayed on the walls.

And then the doorkeeper returned and announced the governess, and Artie went into his smitten suitor act full-bore.

"Ah, Catalina, _querida mia!_ How beautiful you look tonight!" He clasped her hand and bent over it, saying for her ears only, "Was it difficult getting me in?"

She led him over to a couch and they sat together, he being very attentive, she dropping her head and acting quite shy. "It was… strange," she answered him softly. "At first the baroness was on the verge of dismissing me as the children's governess, only to change her mind and invite you to take dinner with us."

"Dismiss you?"

"For the crime of taking a suitor, _sí! _As I told you before, _ella está loca_."

"Shh. But I am invited to supper?"

"_Sí_. Are you… are we in danger?"

The chief guard entered the room at this point, and Don Pablo made a large laugh and lifted Señora Reyes'hand to his lips once more, saying, "Ah, _querida! _Is it not ever thus?"

Was that his answer to her question? Catalina was not sure.

As Artie smiled at the governess, he noted that one side of her face was heavily made up, though not quite heavily enough to hide from his eyes the fresh bruise across her cheek. When had that happened, and why? He also caught the narrowing of her eyes and the thinning of her lips as she glanced at the chief guard. Hmm. There was no love lost between those two!

The chief guard came toward them, and Artie rose from the sofa politely. "I am Colonel Nevje," she growled out at him, "and you, I presume, are Señor Martínez, the suitor about whom we have heard so much." She looked him over, and from the expression on her face Artie was sure that she did not esteem him as being worth much notice. This was fine with him, of course, for when the time came to find the hidden office, he hoped to be of practically no notice whatsoever.

"The baroness wishes to meet you before dinner," the guard went on. "_Veshte djo!_ Follow!"

Artie glanced at Señora Reyes. Curious. The guard's command had been in the singular form, singular masculine. The governess came to her feet anyway and followed as well. Artie offered his arm and she took it as they trailed after Colonel Nevje through the house. The colonel stepped up to a richly carved door, knocked, then opened it. She gestured the guest inside, but caught the governess by the arm and hissed something at her in Pterovnian, something insulting.

She was counting on the Mexican don not understanding Pterovnian, thought Artie, who had comprehended every word. He hoped that meant he was accepted for who he claimed to be, and that no one had penetrated his disguise. Pasting a broad smile across his face, he entered the office and the door was closed behind him.

…

It was dark enough now, Jim decided. He listened for the next patrol of guards to pass by inside the wall, then produced and unfolded a small grappling hook and hurled it up over the top of the wall. He tugged it back until it caught and held in the spikes. Quickly and quietly he scrambled up to the top, then tossed his jacket over the spikes and climbed over to the inside of the wall. Disengaging the grappling hook, he let both the rope and his jacket fall to the ground within the wall, then dropped down himself. For a few seconds he remained still as he glanced about, but seeing no one, he gathered his things, tucked the coiled rope away in his clothing, then set off for the consulate, dodging from one patch of darkness to the next until he reached the building.

…

The stately woman arose from behind the desk and came around it. "Good evening, Señor Martínez," she said with a warmth in her voice that did not reach her eyes. "I am the Baroness Vazilje Gorashche. Welcome to my home."

_Don _Pablo bent gallantly over her hand. "_¡Buenas noches, señora!_ And may I offer _mis condolencias _- I am given to understand that sympathy is in order."

"Symp… Oh, that." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "It is of no import. Death, as we know, is a part of life."

Artie hesitated but a moment, stunned by both her open confirmation of her husband's death and her callousness regarding his passing. He then smiled and said, "But of course. Who has ever enjoyed life under the sun without tasting of death in the end?"

"Precisely," she said. Crossing to a small table with a carafe and glasses, she offered, "Sherry?"

"_¡Ah, sí, señora! ¡Con mucho gusto!"_ he accepted enthusiastically.

She poured him a glass and one for herself, then seated herself behind the desk once more and said, "Now, Señor Martínez, I should like to know your intentions toward my governess: they are honorable?"

"_¡Sí, señora! _But of course!"

"And you are a man of means? I ask because, of course, if you should marry Señora Reyes, she will lose her position here as governess."

"_Ah, sí, _of course. I am from an old California family, señora. Old money, eh? I will be able to provide very well for my little Catalina," he assured her.

"Ah, but I find it surprising that our governess even has a suitor, señor. A serious suitor for her hand, about whom we at the consulate have heard nothing whatsoever until today?"

"Ah, well, you see, it is like this," and Artie gave his imagination free rein. "I am an old friend of the family. I live down in the south and come to San Francisco only rarely. The last time I was here, Catalina's husband was still alive. After he passed on, she wrote to tell me of the tragic news, but from that time until now I have not been free to come visit her. In the meantime, we have been corresponding by letter, and…" he smiled, putting a twinkle into his eyes, "through those letters, we have come to fall in love."

"By letter. Really," said the baroness. "But Señora Reyes has received no such letters here at the consulate; I would know if she had."

"Oh, but I do not send them here. I post them to a dear aunt of hers, who passes the letters on to Catalina whenever she goes into town to visit her."

"Her aunt? I don't seem to recall Señora Reyes ever speaking of an aunt."

Artie nearly choked on the sherry. "_¡Ay, caramba!_ Did I say 'aunt'? I meant to say '_abuela.'_ Her grandmother. You will pardon me, _por favor_, over my poor proficiency with the language of English, señora."

"Hmm. I see." Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at him, and Artie smiled back genially, hoping he hadn't blown his cover.

"Well," she said at last, "I believe it is time for our dinner," and she lifted a small bell from the desk and rang it.

Instantly the chief guard entered the room. "My lady?"

"Please show Señor Martínez to the dining hall. And Señora Reyes, where is she?"

With a glance at the Mexican don, the colonel switched over to Pterovnian and replied, "I sent her to see to the children, which is her proper place."

"But she has a _guest_," the baroness said sweetly. "She must come and dine with her guest. Go and fetch her at once!"

"_Dasda, Zernkje muje._ Yes, my lady." The colonel bowed and exited.

Baroness Gorashche came around the desk again. "As your sweetheart is not present currently for you to escort her to the dining hall, you shall simply have to make do with me," she said, slipping a hand through his elbow, which he then belatedly crooked for her. He hurriedly deposited his glass of sherry on the small table from which it had come and accompanied his hostess from the office.

…

Jim continued on toward the consulate, dodging a few patrols along the way. At length he arrived in the ornamental gardens where he found a dark spot among some hydrangea bushes in which to conceal himself as he studied the building.

The consulate was two stories tall and built like a bank vault - or perhaps a prison. All the windows on the ground floor were enclosed behind bars. The bars were in intricately graceful designs, echoing the motif of the front gates to the grounds, and they therefore added beauty and charm to the building. But bars they were nonetheless.

The upper floor, though - that had possibilities. The windows upstairs were not barred, and Jim found it especially encouraging that one of the trees of the garden, a cottonwood, spread its sturdy branches very close to a dark window up there. He waited out another patrol of the guards, then slipped over to that tree and began to climb.

…

Of the baroness and the don, it was she, of course, who showed the way to the dining hall. They arrived through one door just as Nevje and Catalina, her knitting bag clutched in her hand, entered through another.

Señor Martínez bowed formally to the baroness, then crossed the room to greet his supposed sweetheart with another kiss on the hand. What a relief he found it to be away from the baroness! Not only was there something about her that rubbed him the wrong way, but her perfume was cloying and obnoxious in the extreme.

The dinner was served. Artie was seated opposite Señora Reyes, with the baroness at the head of the table and the colonel at the foot of it. The food was lavish and thoroughly Pterovnian, with the main course something very much like Artie's favorite of beef stroganoff. The conversation was perfunctory; Artie had the strong sense that the baroness was curbing her tongue around him, and he pondered what sort of things he might say that would jar her into unguarded speech. Asking about the children brought forth more answers from Catalina than the children's own mother, and what little the baroness did have to say of her progeny was chiefly about her daughter Mireje.

What was her son to her then, Artie wondered: chopped liver?

…

Jimmying the window had taken him some time, but now West was inside a hallway of the upper floor. He listened carefully as he stole along through the building, watching out for guards or anyone else. As he made his furtive way through the quiet of the upper story, a door sprang open just as he was passing it, and a voice called out cheerfully, "Why, Mr West!"

It was the long-haired boy, Andreshko. Jim instantly clapped a hand over the kid's mouth and shoved him back through the door into the room beyond, shutting them both inside. He held up a finger for silence, then released the boy's mouth. Quickly Jim made a cursory survey of the room.

This was apparently an old-fashioned nursery suite. Part of the large chamber was the classroom with bookcases and desks and a blackboard, and another part was the dining area, currently in use, with china and silver at the place settings and chafing dishes sending forth enticing aromas scattered upon the damask tablecloth. A rolling cart stood near the table with a glass pitcher of some beverage upon it.

The enchanting Mireje was just springing to her feet from the table. "What…?"

"Shh!" said Andreshko, his face a mask of delight. "Look! I have found Mr West sneaking through the corridor! Isn't that marvelous? We have caught a spy!"


	6. Act 2, Part 2

**Act Two, Part Two ~~~**

At last the meal ended and the party moved to a parlor where digestifs were served. Artie sniffed of his and complimented the baroness on the marvelous bouquet, which seemed to him to be just the least bit off. Accordingly he decided to wait for the baroness and the colonel to take a sip of theirs first before he had any. He sat on the sofa, Señora Reyes at his side. Setting her own glass aside on the small table before them, the governess brought out her yarn and needles from her bag and was soon engaged in knitting.

The colonel took a healthy slug of her drink. The baroness frowned and crooked a finger at the woman, calling her over to whisper in her ear. "At once, my lady," said the colonel and left the room.

"Your pardon, señor," said the baroness, "but I have just remembered something important. Nevje will take care of it for me and be back soon."

"But of course, dear lady," said the don, lifting his glass. He made as if he would drink, but then lowered the glass again untasted. "But tell me, now that your husband has passed on to his reward, what are your plans, dear lady? You will return to your homeland, _¿no es verdad?_ Is it not so?"

"Certainly not! What reason is there for me to go back to Pterovnia?"

"Why, this consulate!" he said with a grand gesture at the room around them. "Surely your country will soon be sending out a new consul, and once he arrives, you will go home."

Ah! From the fire in the baroness' eyes, Artie realized that something in what he had just said had finally hit the mark. He sat back to listen and find out what it was.

"He?" repeated the baroness. "You think I shall leave once 'he' arrives? Why? That is to say, why must the new consul be a 'he,' a man? Why not a woman? Why not myself? I have done as much or more for any Pterovnians coming to the consulate for assistance than my husband ever did. There is no reason - none! - why any given woman of Pterovnia cannot do as great a service for her nation as any given man, and usually she will accomplish that service far more proficiently and efficiently than he will!" Angrily she tossed off some of her drink.

"Ah," said Artie, "and is this why your consulate is, as far as I have seen, entirely staffed with women?" And now, having seen her taste her wine, he took some of his own.

"Yes!" she said heatedly, then blanched. "You must excuse me. Colonel Nevje is taking far too long in her errand." And the baroness all but bolted from the room.

For a moment, just for a moment, Artie felt a flush come over him, accompanied by a touch of dizziness. He shook his head to clear it and peered suspiciously at his glass of wine.

"You are all right, señ… ah, Pablo?" asked Señora Reyes.

"I…" He closed his eyes. How strange he was feeling!

Dropping her knitting into her lap, she laid a hand on his forehead, then along the sides of his neck. "Have you a fever?" she asked.

He pressed his own hand to his brow. He didn't think he was sick. Could it be the wine? Indicating her glass, he asked, "Have you taken any?"

"_Sí_, I have," she replied, looking puzzled. "Why?"

"And you feel fine?"

She paused to access just how she did feel, then nodded.

"Hmm," said Artie. "Strange." He sniffed of his glass again. If they both - no, all four of them - had partaken of the same wine and the women were fine, surely his had not been doctored. He had been watching as it was poured, and all of the glasses had been in plain view at all times, all poured from the same carafe. For that matter, he had been served his first, from a tray, and there had been no hint of his choice of glasses being forced upon him.

Ah, and now the feeling of oddness drained out of him. He sighed and smiled at the little woman at his side. "There, that's better," he said. Raising his glass, he toasted her with, "_Salud_," and drank some more.

She responded in kind, sipped from her glass, then set it aside to take up her knitting once again. "I wonder why the baroness left the room so hurriedly," she commented.

Artie glanced at her and gave a small shrug. "Yes, that was odd, wasn't it, _querida mia?_"

She paused in the middle of a purl, the endearment taking her by surprise. They were alone now; why would he persist in keeping up the pretense of being her suitor when there was no one here to overhear him? Oh, but perhaps he was concerned that someone might be spying on them. She resolved to keep up the act of being interested in him as well. She smiled at him and continued to stitch.

He took another sip of his wine and smiled back at her. Hmm. It suddenly occurred to Artie that the governess, dressed as she was tonight in a tasteful maroon dress with her jet black hair unencumbered by the lace mantilla… why, she was far prettier than he had noticed before. Quite a young woman she was as well. He leaned closer to her and said, "Tell me, Catalina my dear, how, ah, how long have you been widowed?"

"Three years, señor_._"

He shook his head and whispered softly, "Ah, but you are forgetting that you are to call me by my first name, as is befitting between sweethearts, _mi querida_."

He was playing his role to the hilt while she had forgotten what to call him already, Catalina thought. She apologized. "_Lo siento_, Pablo."

"_Mucho mejor_," he replied. "Much better. And you were, I think, widowed quite young, _¿no es verdad?_"

"_Sí_," she agreed. Well, in her estimation, thirty-one was indeed quite young to have become a widow.

"_¡Ah, mi pobrecita! _How sad, how very sad!" He interrupted her knitting by taking her hand and kissing it once more, then said, "Now, _mi querida_, is there perhaps somewhere we can go together for a little, ah, privacy from prying eyes? Hmm?" And he gave her a wink.

What was he up to? she wondered. Wanting to go somewhere private together? Winking at her? Was not this parlor in which they two now sat alone private enough? Oh! But of course! Now that they were alone, he wished her to lead him to the locked linen closet so that he might get on with his work here of finding that evidence he and his partner wanted.

Abandoning the knitting, Catalina rose to her feet with her hand still in his and said, "Come."

…

Jim started to say something, but Mireje beat him to it. "A spy!" she cried. "Oh, do not be silly, Dreshko. You read too many of those penny dreadfuls. People do not go about sneaking into houses and searching for international secrets! Please, little brother!" She shook her head at him, scoffing, then turned to Mr West and asked him, "Please, do tell my brother why you are here."

With a small smile on his face, James West said, "I'm spying. In fact, I'm here searching for international secrets."

Andreshko gave a whoop of delight, then instantly slammed both hands over his mouth to cover it. Releasing his mouth again, the boy whispered, "Really? Oh how exciting! An actual spy here in the consulate! What are you looking for? And can we help you?"

Could they help? Jim looked at the two, reading excitement in the boy's face and wonder in the girl's. Neither one seemed to be hiding anything from him. And so, choosing to trust the children, Jim replied, "I'm looking for evidence into the assassination of your father and the king. We were told your father had amassed some evidence about the plot against the king, and we're hoping that evidence is here in the consulate."

"Ah? Is that why you were here earlier?" said the boy. "_Mushche_ didn't give it to you, though, I suppose, or you wouldn't have come back tonight."

"_Mushche?_"

"That means 'mother,' " Mireje explained. "But you said, 'we.' Your partner is here? That other man, the one with the Greek name?"

"Actually, by 'we,' " Jim replied, looking her straight in the eye, "I mean that my partner and I are working on behalf of Crown Prince Stepanko. He needs the evidence regarding the murder of his father and yours."

Mireje gasped. "He is here?"

"In the city, yes."

"Oh." She sat down suddenly.

"What's wrong?"

The boy snorted. "_Mushche_ has been angry with Mireje lately. She has always said that women are better suited to rule than men, and has pushed Mireje to become the greatest woman in Pterovnia by studying hard and rising to power."

"Oh hush, Dreshko."

Jim regarded the boy sharply. "Rise to power? And how did your mother intend for this to happen? Was she advocating the overthrow of the king? And what does all this have to do with the prince being here in San Francisco?"

"Overthrow…?" The boy's eyes went wide. "You… You mean, King Zerildko's assassination? Do you think _Mushche_ had a part in that?"

"Oh no, no!" said Mireje.

"But that would explain…"

The girl cut off her brother's words. "No, it would not!"

"Would explain what?" asked Jim.

"She…" Mireje took up a napkin from the table and began pleating the cloth in her fingers. "A few months ago," said the girl, "_Mushche_ quizzed me on matters of state, political topics, things in which I have no interest, and when my answers were not to her liking, she said I was a fool and that, as I could not rise to power on my own, she would have to contrive some other means for me to become the greatest woman in Pterovnia."

"Some other means," Jim mused. "Such as the assassination of the rightful king, followed by luring the Crown Prince here?"

Wretchedly, the girl nodded, then threw down the napkin. "But I have no ambition to become the greatest woman in Pterovnia! That is _her _dream, not mine!"

"And besides," the boy added, "we were here in America, far away from Pterovnia. What could _Mushche_ do to bring about a rise to power for my sister?"

"The assassination was plainly the first step," said Jim.

"I cannot believe this!" cried Mireje. "She arranged for the king to be killed? And the prince - you say he is now in San Francisco?"

"Yes," said Jim, mentally clicking the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together. "Soon after the word came that the king had been killed, a telegram purporting to be from your father arrived, claiming he had amassed evidence here at the consulate regarding a plot against the king, evidence the prince wants desperately."

"From our father?" said the boy. "But he is dead."

"Yes, killed along with His Majesty. _Mushche_…" The girl faded off, looking troubled.

"Yes?" said West. "Your mother…?"

The children exchanged glances, and then the boy answered, "Well, she did not seem to be the least bit upset by our father's death, let us put it that way!"

Hmm. The baron was dead without a doubt then, thought Jim. And the telegram that had brought them here was a ruse, apparently sent by the baroness to bring the prince here - a ruse which had worked admirably. But what was next? If the plan was to orchestrate a rise to power for the lovely young Mireje, what would be the baroness' next step?

Whatever that plan might entail, Jim decided, plainly the prince must not come to the consulate. He would make that abundantly clear to the young royal once he and Artie returned to the hotel suite. And in the meantime, back to business.

Jim crossed to the door to leave, saying to the children as he laid a hand on the door knob, "Don't let anyone know I was here."

"_Dasda, Merinko_ West," Mireje agreed.

Now he gave the girl sharp glance. "_Merinko?_ I'm not a lord."

"No, no," said Andreshko. "_Marnko _means Lord. _Merinko_ is simply the same as Mister."

"Ah. Well, again, say nothing of the fact that I was here, and nothing of the things we have spoken of. I know this is your own mother involved in the plot, but…"

"If she is behind the death of our king," said Andreshko, "then she killed _Vachko_ along with him."

The girl nodded, a hint of tears in her eyes. "But how could she kill our father? He loved her!"

Her brother shook his head. "He loved her, but he did not trust her. He told me…" The boy broke off talking at that point and at the same moment, Jim snatched his hand away from the door.

The knob was turning, and the door began to open.


	7. Act 2, Part 3

**Act Two, Part Three ~~~**

Catalina led Señor Gordon down a corridor and stopped before a certain door. Glancing about to be sure they were alone and unobserved, she said, "Here."

"Ah," said Artie. He smiled at her and gave the door knob a turn. "But it's locked, _querida_. Do you have the key?"

She stared at him. "No, of course I do not have the key! Señor G… I mean, Don Pablo, this is the linen closet I told you of earlier. You remember that, do you not? The one you wished to investigate? The reason for which I was to get you inside the consulate?" She frowned. "And why are you looking at me that way?"

"What way, Catalina my dear?"

"Like…" She did not want to finish the sentence, for the expression on his face was that of a man making plans to draw a woman into his arms. It was true that he was supposed to play the role of her suitor, but even now? "Señor Gordon?" she whispered.

"_¿Sí, querida?_"

"The door!" She pointed at it emphatically.

"Hmm?" He turned his head slowly, so slowly, to look at the door. It was as if, she thought, he were reluctant to tear his eyes away from gazing upon her face. But why? Why was he acting this way? Earlier, after his arrival here, he had been attentive to her, it was true, but only when they might be seen. He had changed though. But when? and why?

Abruptly the man gave himself a massive shake and squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them again and blinked several times with the air of someone coming out of a trance. "Door," he said. "Right. Right, the door."

Artie reached into a pocket and produced a small device that looked very much like the wind-up mechanism from inside a music box. He cranked the key several times, then knelt down and fitted the device over the keyhole. "Warn me if anyone's coming," he said.

"_Sí_." She looked around nervously.

In a matter of moments the device had done its job and the door was unlocked. Artie stowed the wind-up lock pick back into a pocket, then opened the door and looked inside. "Hmm…"

"What is it?" asked Catalina.

"Looks like a linen closet." There was room enough to step inside, so he did. Still standing outside, Catalina watched him as he made a swift but thorough search of the room, running his hands over the walls and under the linens.

"What are you looking for?"

"Some sort of switch to… ah!" He was feeling under the lowest shelf of all, and his fingers found a lever. He jiggled it.

_Click! _The entire wall swung outward, revealing a stairway descending into the darkness beyond. Artie grinned. "No wonder the architect wouldn't let the baron inspect things too closely. Come along, _mi querida_, and close that door behind you." Taking Catalina's hand, he led the way down the hidden staircase.

…

As the door to the nursery suite opened, Jim disappeared behind it, hiding in the angle the door made with the wall. A young woman dressed in the livery of a maid stepped in, curtseyed to the baroness' children, and spoke to them in Pterovnia.

"_Dasda_," Mireje replied, using a word Jim recognized as meaning "Yes."

And Andreshko added, "Thank you, yes, we are done with dinner. You may take it all away now."

With a frown in her voice, the maid spoke again, addressing herself to Andreshko. And he replied with a light laugh, "Oh, I am speaking to you in English because, ah… because Señora Reyes likes for me to practice my English, you see!"

His sister then spoke to the maid, presumably translating the boy's remarks. The servant curtseyed again and crossed to the table. Loading everything onto the rolling cart, she wheeled it all away, closing the door after her.

Jim stepped out from hiding. "Thank you for not giving me away," he said to the children.

"Oh no, we would not do that," said Andreshko merrily. "This is too much fun!"

"Fun!" exclaimed his sister. "You call learning that our mother probably had our father killed fun?"

"No, no, not that! But the spying, that is fun." With a twinkle in his eye, the boy turned to the American and said, "I should like to come with you, Mr West. I still want to help you. I know the building very well!"

"I'm sure you know this place like the back of your hand, Andreshko," said Jim, "but this is not a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek. This is a very dangerous business, and you need to stay right here with your sister."

The children looked at each other, and then Mireje, shyly, crossed to the American. "Oh, do be careful!" she said, her wide eyes looking up into his face. "I would hate for anything bad to happen to you."

"I would hate that too, Mireje," said Jim. He gave her a big smile, and then, to the boy's embarrassment, Jim pulled the girl into his arms and gave her a big kiss as well.

"Good-bye, Mireje," Jim said to her after he let her go.

Her reply was an inarticulate squeak.

"And, you," Jim added to Andreshko, "stay here."

The boy nodded and Jim left.

Andreshko looked at his sister, who was standing with her head to one side, a happy, dreamy smile upon her face. "Ha!" snorted the boy. "Kissing!" He made a face, then opened the door of their suite and peered out into the hallway.

Seeing him do so snapped Mireje out of her reverie. "What are you up to?" she said sharply.

He grinned at her. "I too shall be a spy!"

"What? No, no, Andreshko! Did you not hear _Merinko_ West? He said for us to stay here!"

The kid grinned back at his sister. "So?" he said, and he slipped through the door and disappeared down the hall.

…

"If I'm estimating correctly how far down we've come," Artie whispered to the governess, "I believe this staircase goes all the way down below the consulate."

"Into the basement?"

"Farther than that, I think. Unless this building has a very deep basement."

They reached the end of the stairs. Artie held up a hand for silence as he listened for a bit. "Do you hear anything?" he asked at last.

She shook her head.

"All right, Catalina my dear, let's see where we are, hmm?" He felt along the blank wall in front of them until he found a catch and flicked it.

As with the back wall of the linen closet upstairs, so here, the wall in front of them swung open. Artie took the woman's hand and they stepped through the door.

They were in an office. Pale beige paneling on the walls and ceiling reflected the gas light, making the room seem light and airy. A desk and chair stood near one wall, with other typical furnishings for an office - more chairs, a sofa, a few small tables, a globe, a tall clock, and some bookshelves - scattered about the room. There was an exquisite oriental rug on the floor, and some surprisingly expensive art work adorning the walls.

There was no other door in evidence. Artie went to the desk and began glancing over the papers upon it, being careful to disturb them as little as possible. After checking them, as well as taking a quick peek under the desk pad, he started on the drawers, picking the locks of any that were shut up against prying eyes.

While he was thus engaged in his little job of snooping, Catalina wandered the room, taking in the books on the shelves and the art on the walls. "I… I cannot believe this!" she said softly. "I had no idea she had all this here!"

"You're the one who believed she had a hidden office, _querida_," Artie pointed out.

"Hidden, yes, but…" She raised her hands in a wide gesture to encompass the whole of the room, "but not something like this! I imagined a little nook hidden directly behind the linen closet!" She came over to the desk as Artie closed the final drawer and stood up. "Think of it, Señor Gordon! If she has a room like this buried beneath the consulate, what else did she induce the architect to add to the building? What other secret rooms might she have?"

…

Jim made his way through the halls, checking rooms, looking for anything that might betray whatever plans the baroness had for the future. She surely hadn't inveigled the prince to come all the way out west with no object in mind. Jim looked into one room after another, finding that this upper floor was for the most part the realm of bedrooms, and most of those were unoccupied as of yet. He took advantage of the solitude to seek out the baroness' own suite.

At length he found it, but only after first discovering her late husband's rooms. These were all but bare already, all the manly articles in them neatly boxed up, ready to be removed. That hadn't taken long, thought Jim, but then if the man's wife had known beforehand that he was never coming back, she might well have given orders to pack his things away right after he left.

He closed the doors here and found that across the hall was the suite belonging to Baroness Gorashche. He entered quietly and scouted through the suite. She had a desk in here, but a cursory examination showed nothing that Jim could identify as helpful. He moved on to milady's boudoir and checked here as well, especially in the jewelry box; in his experience, women tended to hide things there, but no, he again found nothing here that was out of the ordinary.

A sound from the main room alerted him and Jim slipped over to the bedroom door and peered out. The baroness herself had just entered and was coming straight toward the room he was in!

Swiftly he hid himself inside a closet and with not a moment to spare. He heard the door open and close, then heard her footsteps cross the boudoir, though not coming in his direction. He cracked open the door and had a look just in time to see the baroness touch a piece of molding on the far wall. A panel slid open in front of her and she stepped through it, leaving it open behind her.

Jim abandoned the closet to follow the baroness. As he peered into the hidden room, he saw what looked like a cross between a lab and a kitchen, and in it sat a wizened old woman who would be perfectly typecast as one of the weird sisters from Macbeth. He watched as the two women spoke together for some time, but unfortunately for him, they spoke in Pterovnian. The old woman then took up a beautiful cut-glass carafe with a heart-shaped label tied around its neck and handed it to the baroness. She accepted it with a sinister smile, then left the hidden room.

The baroness closed up the sliding panel behind her, turned around, and paused. Frowning as if something were wrong, she looked all about herself, the carafe clutched protectively in both her hands. Ah! Her eyes glowing with anger, she strode purposefully over to her dressing table where the jewelry box was standing wide open. Setting down the carafe, she ransacked the box quickly, then slammed the lid shut. Now she strode from the suite, taking the carafe away with her.

After a moment's silence, the closet door peeped open and Jim came out. Obviously that carafe was important and he was determined to find out why.

…

Young Andreshko prowled through the halls of the consulate, dodging into nooks and crannies whenever anyone came along, thoroughly enjoying his own endeavor at spying. He reached his mother's office without being caught, listened at the door, then slipped inside and hurried to the desk. Oh, how exciting it would be if he were to find the evidence Mr West had spoken of! The boy riffled quickly through the papers on the desk top, not entirely sure what he was looking for. Frowning, he pulled at the drawers and, finding them locked, he scrunched down to see if perhaps there was a key attached to the underside of the desk.

There was. He was just leaning in under the kneehole of the desk when the office door opened and he heard his mother's voice speaking to Colonel Nevje.

Uh-oh! Having nowhere else to go, Andreshko crammed himself into the kneehole and prayed he would be not be caught.

…

Artie tucked something into his inside jacket pocket. "All right, we're done here."

"You have found what you needed?"

"Yes and no."

Catalina shook her head. "I do not understand."

He smiled and patted her cheek. "Don't worry about it. It's evidence against the baroness, but not very strong evidence, I'm afraid. We'll have to keep looking." He paused, then added, "But you've been calling me Señor Gordon again, _querida mia! ¡Por favor, me llamas _Artemus!"

She started, her eyebrows arching. Why was he using the familiar form of the verb with her? That was a bit forward. And why was he requesting that she call him Artemus? "Was it not Pablo that you wished me to call you?" she said.

He paused and frowned. "Ah… Er. Right. Yes, yes, call me Pablo." He frowned a bit longer and shook his head as if to clear it. He then took her hand again. "Come on, Catalina my dear. We'd better get out of here before we get caught… Cat." His eyes twinkled at the dash of word play he had just engaged in.

Frowning, Catalina echoed, "Cat? Why would you call me that?"

"Because I want to," he replied. "Because it's short for Catalina." His eyes still twinkling, he raised a hand to touch her cheek, brushing the tips of his fingers lightly over her skin. For an unsettling moment, judging from the smile on his face - for he looked distinctly moon-struck - she thought the man was going to kiss her. And so she leaned back from him.

The slight movement caught his attention. He blinked. Frowning, he blinked some more and finally gave himself a good head-clearing shake. "Cat…" he said. "No… no, _caught_. We need to get out of here before we get caught." And with her hand still held firmly in his own, he led her out of the underground office to start back up the long staircase to the locked linen closet.

…

Andreshko made himself as small as possible under the desk as he heard his mother come into the office. "Keep an eye on the governess and her guest," she commanded Colonel Nevje.

"Do you think the drink has worked?" said the chief guard.

"That is part of the reason I wish you to keep an eye on them!" said the baroness. "Now go!"

"Yes, my lady," said the colonel, and the boy heard the office door close.

His mother went to the liquor stand first and set down a beautiful cut-glass carafe. She stroked the bottle fondly, and whispered, "Ah, but if that drink has worked on the governess' suitor, here we have more from Ekatje's art! I can hardly wait to see… But first he must come to us. The fly must enter the spider's parlor, yes?"

Chuckling under her breath, his mother crossed to the desk and seated herself. Andreshko had to contort himself to avoid her feet. Unaware that she was not alone, the baroness pulled some blank stationery toward her, dipped a pen into ink, and began to write. The boy heard her speak a few isolated words as she wrote, words such as "all is safe" and "come at once." With a self-satisfied chuckle, she laid a sheet of blotting paper upon the note and pressed the ink dry. She then folded the note and slipped it into an envelope, adding a name to the outside. "There!" she said, and rang a bell.

One of the staff entered shortly. "_Zernkje muje?_"

Speaking to the woman in rapid Pterovnian, the baroness ordered her to have one of the guards take the note and deliver it to the finest suite in the finest hotel in San Francisco.

"_Dasda_, _Zernkje muje_," said the servant girl and left.

"Excellent!" the baroness said to herself. She leaned back in her chair and began to stretch her legs out to their fullest extent under the desk.

The door sprang open. "My lady!"

The baroness shot upright in her chair, making enough noise that she did not hear the sigh of relief from the kneehole before her. "What do you mean by entering without knocking, Nevje?" she growled.

"My lady, the man and Reyes are no longer in the parlor. They are in fact nowhere to be found!"

"What?" Baroness Vazilje leapt from her chair and strode toward the door. "They must be found! Call out the guard! Search everywhere!" And the door slammed behind the two women as they rushed out to ransack the consulate for the missing couple.

A few seconds later, a very shaken young boy emerged from beneath the desk, beginning to have his doubts that this spy business was as much fun as he had thought it would be a half an hour earlier. On the other hand, what was this drink his mother had spoken of? Who was Ekatje? Oh! and his governess had a suitor?

…

Jim continued to move quietly through the halls. He had lost the baroness, and was now on the prowl for her main office, which he was sure would be down here on the lower floor. He was finding it harder to dodge the guards now, which told him that something was up. He slipped into a room to avoid detection as another group of watchwomen came charging down a hall, calling out to each other in Pterovnian. He didn't know what they were saying, of course, but strongly suspected it just might have something to do with Artie.

…

They reached the top of the stairs and Artie, after a brief search, found the latch to open the back of the linen closet. They stepped through and he closed it again, then pressed his ear to the closet door. "Uh-oh."

"What is it?" asked Catalina.

"I hear voices out there, and not very happy voices either." He listened a bit longer, hearing the sound of the baroness snapping out orders left and right to search everywhere. Moments later a key clattered its way into the lock, and Artie pulled Catalina back from the door. "Someone's coming in!" he hissed. "And there's no point in going back downstairs, because there's nowhere to hide down there. So just… act natural."

"Act natural! We are in a closet! What is there about being in a closet together that is natural?"

"Well," he said, "there's this, for instance."

"Mrph!" exclaimed Catalina as to her great surprise, Artie all but swept her off her feet into a passionate kiss.

The baroness opened the door and stared, her jaw falling upon her breast. What should meet her eyes inside this closet, of all things, but the sight of the governess locked in a tight embrace with Señor Martínez! "Señora Reyes!" she exclaimed.

Artie glanced at the woman in the closet doorway, broke off the kiss long enough to say "_Con permiso_," took hold of the door knob, and swung the closet door shut again with himself and Catalina inside. "Now, Cat my dear, where were we when we were so rudely interrupted?" he said and kissed her again.

She pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him away. "What do you think you are doing?" she hissed.

"Taking shocking advantage of you, _querida!_" He grinned and bobbed his eyebrows at her, then gathered her in for another kiss.

The door sprang open anew.

**End of Act Two**


	8. Act 3, Part 1

**Act Three, Part One ~~~**

Once another group of guards had passed out of hearing, Jim stole out into the hall again and began to move on. And at that point, he heard a voice hiss out his name. "Mr West!"

Jim whirled to see a panel of the wall sliding open, and within it was the baroness' son. With a big grin on his face, the boy waved his arm at the American, bidding him to come near.

Jim strode over, pulled the boy inside the wall, slid the panel shut again, and said, "I told you to stay put!"

The boy at least had the grace to look sheepish. "_Dasda_. I know you did, and I chose to disobey. I am sorry, Mr West."

Jim now looked around. Unlike the kitchen-cum-laboratory he'd just seen in the baroness' suite upstairs, this hidden area was not a room. It extended off in either direction parallel to the hall he'd just left. "What is this, a secret passageway?"

"Oh yes, Mr West!" said the boy brightly. "_Vachko _had them built. You remember, I said he did not trust _Mushche_."

"Right." And apparently the baron had had good reason not to trust his wife. "Where does this lead?" Jim asked the boy.

"Oh, all over! There are three hidden passageways, and they connect up at different points. This one, as well as one from the reception hall, and one from _Vachko's_ office. I, ah, I was spying in _Mushche's_ office and well, I decided I did not wish to use the regular halls to get back to the nursery."

"So you're saying that the secret passage we're in right now will take me to your mother's office, and also to the nursery?"

"_Dasda_. Yes, _Vachko _made sure one of the passages would allow Mireje and me to leave the building entirely if we needed to."

"I see." Jim took a pad of paper and a pencil from his pocket. "Draw me a map, Andreshko. I want to know all of your father's secret passages. And then," and Jim gave the kid a very stern look, "I want you to go right back up to your bedroom and stay there for the rest of the night. Do you hear me?"

"_Dasda_," sighed the boy. And he took the paper and began to draw.

…

A woman on horseback, her clothing the livery of the Ptervonian consulate guards, road through the night toward the city of San Francisco.

…

It was harder to descend the hidden stairway with his arms tied behind his back, Artie found. Catalina's arms were tied as well, and the cadre of guards who were hauling them down to the clandestine office were being none too gentle with either of their prisoners.

At length they reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the underground office. The baroness swept past them all to seat herself at her desk where she leaned back and steepled her fingers, coldly regarding the governess and her suitor. "Why were you in the closet?" she demanded.

Don Pablo smiled toothily. "Where better to find a little privacy to indulge in a little of, ah, what the Americans call 'necking,' hmm?"

Anger filled the baroness' face, and she made a small gesture with her head that translated into Colonel Nevje backhanding the man across the face. He stared back into the chief guard's beady eyes and said, "Ah. I understand now from whence _mi querida _Catalina received the gift of the bruise upon her cheek. Jealousy perhaps?"

Nevje's lip curled into a snarl. "Jealous of what? Of her, over a man? Ha!" And she raised her hand to strike him again.

A word from the baroness quelled that. "Bring me his jacket," she said.

Artie had to be untied for the order to be obeyed, and he quietly folded his hands behind his back after they stripped him of his suit jacket in the hopes that his stance would help them forget to bind his arms again. Meanwhile, as Catalina looked on in growing apprehension, the baroness felt in the inside pockets of the jacket one by one, shortly producing from one of them a damning piece of paper.

…

Following the boy's map, Jim found his way into the baroness' first floor office. He went immediately to the woman's desk and checked it, but there was nothing of… Ah! Here was a piece of blotting paper, freshly used. Jim carried it to the mirror above the fireplace and held it up. Not all of the words were legible, but there was enough there to let Jim know that the note this had blotted would bring the prince out to the consulate as soon as he received it. Stepanko was in danger; if only Jim knew precisely what that danger was to be!

He returned the blotting paper to the desk, since he would not need it as evidence; the actual note which was on its way to the crown prince would be evidence enough. His hands on his hips, Jim glanced around the room. What else might be here?

And now his eyes lit on a carafe on the liquor stand. He recognized the distinctive heart-shaped label tied to its neck. It was the same carafe the baroness had received from the weird old woman in the hidden room. What was in this carafe? Jim was sure it was important. He took a step toward the stand to inspect the carafe.

And the door opened.

A maid entered. Unaware of the man who had just hidden himself behind a set of curtains, the maid crossed to the liquor stand and, following orders, took up the carafe with the heart-shaped tag and bore it away.

…

Mireje was sitting in the nursery suite quite alone reading her Tolstoy when she heard a creak. Looking up, she gave a squeak of alarm and clutched at her heart. One of the bookcases in the classroom had just swung out from the wall!

From the darkness behind that hidden door, her brother stepped out.

Mireje let loose a less-than-polite exclamation in Pterovnian. "Andreshko! Where did you come from? How did you do that?" she demanded.

"Oh, _Vachko _had this built. He had the architect include a few hidden passageways into the consulate."

"He did what?"

The boy shrugged. "He did not trust _Mushche_. He told me that he wanted you and me to have a way to escape the building just in case."

"He told you? Why did he not tell me?"

Again the boy shrugged. "I do not know."

"And why did _you _not tell me?" she added crossly.

Now he grinned. "Oh, but it was fun to know something you didn't! I could have crept up on you at any time!"

"You _did _creep up on me, Dreshko!"

Happily he nodded. "_Dasda! _And you should have seen your face!"

She folded her arms and stared at him coldly. "Well," she said at last, "at least you are back now. You have given up on spying?"

"Well… perhaps. At any rate, I spoke to Mr West again and he told me to go back to our rooms and not come out until morning."

"_Merinko_ West is exactly right. It is time for bed and for sleep. Although…" and she glanced about, "I do wonder what has become of our governess?"

"Oh," said the boy casually, pleased to have a bit of gossip to pass on. "She has a suitor. He came to visit her tonight, that is all."

"A suitor!" Mireje exclaimed, her eyes wide. "When did that happen?"

"I just told you. He came tonight."

"But… but why has she never said anything of him before now?"

Andreshko shrugged. "I do not know. Maybe she is afraid of _Mushche_. Maybe she did not wish _her _to know."

His sister nodded. "_Dasda_, that makes sense. If I had a suitor, I would not want _Mushche_ to know of him either."

He grinned. "Oh no, _Mushche_ would not like that. But then, _Mushche_ would not like it that you kissed Mr West tonight either, would she?"

Mireje gaped at him. "I did not kiss _Merinko_ West! He kissed me. It was all his idea!" She paused before adding, "But please say nothing of this to _Mushche_. She will not care whose idea it was to kiss whom. You will keep quiet about it, won't you, dear brother?"

"Sure, of course I will," he said. And as she gave a sigh of relief, he added, "As long as you agree to never ever _ever _call me 'dear brother' again!"

"You have a deal."

…

The baroness unfolded the paper, looked it over, then rose up elegantly from her desk and strolled over to Don Pablo. Rolling up the paper, she tapped it against her palm. "How curious," said she. "This document belongs to me. It was locked away in the lower drawer of my desk. How did it come to be in your possession, I wonder?"

He shrugged, an expression of supreme dignity never leaving his face. "I suppose I picked it up somewhere. Perhaps it was thrown away and you were not aware."

"Thrown away? From a locked drawer?"

"Stranger things have happened, señora."

"That is in fact true. Stranger things _have _happened. Strange things such as the pair of you being discovered kissing inside a closet that is always kept locked. Curious how the presence of a lock seemed to make no difference when you are around, señor."

He smiled modestly. "It is a knack."

"It may well be, but it will do you no good any longer. I have a place for you where the lock will be well out of your reach. Colonel Nevje!"

"Yes, my lady?"

"To the oubliette with him!"

"At once, my lady!" Then, stepping closer, the colonel asked softly, "And what of Reyes?"

The baroness regarded her governess coldly. "Your discretion, Nevje."

The bulldog eyes crinkled with satisfaction as a slow smile spread across her features. "Thank you, my lady! Thank you very much!"

…

At the hotel, a bellhop knocked at the door of the prince's suite. When Captain Koloshko answered, the young man held out an envelope to him. "A letter for Prince Stepanko," said the messenger boy.

The captain accepted the note and pressed a coin into the bellhop's palm before closing the door. "My prince!" he said.

Stepanko came from his bedroom. "Has something happened, Koloshko? The Americans have returned from their visit of intrigue at the consulate?"

"You have received a message." The captain slit open the envelope, extracted the contents, then glanced over them and frowned.

The prince took the note from the captain's hand and read it over. "Oh! It is from Mr West. He and Mr Gordon, having spent some time at the consulate, are fully convinced that all is safe there. He urges me to make no delay in visiting the baron that I may be presented with the evidence against the conspirators who assassinated _Vachko_. How marvelous!"

"Marvelous, yes," Koloshko echoed.

"Well, well! Go and make the arrangements at once, my dear captain!" said the prince happily. "I shall require a carriage, of course, and… Oh! I am so relieved!"

The captain bowed. "At once, my prince."

Stepanko headed back to his bedroom, gabbling on blithely to himself. "What a delight to know that there is no danger at the consulate! Ah, and now I must choose which ensemble to wear. The blue, I think…"

The captain went down to the front desk to make suitable arrangements for the prince's transportation. And as he descended the stairs, he thought, but kept the thought to himself, that it was a peculiar thing for a note from Mr West to carry with it the flowery fragrance of a woman's perfume.

…

Colonel Nevje bowed to the baroness, who swept from the office to return upstairs. The colonel crossed to the opposite wall and tugged on a gas sconce just above her head. Immediately that wall swung open into darkness. The colonel gave an order, and her women grabbed hold of the prisoners, hauling them from the beautiful office out into the dirt-walled darkness beyond.

A stack of torches lay just outside the office door, and the guards took up several of these and lit them. Then, compelling the prisoners before them, they set out walking through the rough-hewn tunnel.

Catalina soon felt completely lost, but Artie paid close attention to where they were being taken, counting footsteps and matching them with directions. Soon they came to a locked gate. The colonel unlocked this, fastening it back again once they had all passed through. A second gate was dealt with in the same manner, then a third.

Soon after this, the colonel led the way into a side passage where, by the flickering light of the torches, Artie and the governess could see that before them at their feet lay a gaping hole in the ground with a heavy iron grid covering it. It was a pit some twenty feet in diameter. How deep it might be was hard to gauge in this Stygian gloom; it looked mostly like a great black mouth yawning before them, hungry and yearning.

Colonel Nevje unlocked a small door in the iron gridwork, flinging it open. "In you go!" she cried, and one of her guards, with a gleeful grin on her face, shoved the supposed Don Pablo over the edge into the pit.

Artie was very glad now that no one had remembered to tie his hands up again. He recalled some of Jim's lessons on how to take a fall and tried to twist himself in the air so that he would land well. Oof!

He lay there for a moment, stunned, then blinked and took inventory. Everything seemed to be working. He dragged himself to his feet, happy to find that he could. He looked up at the torches still clustered by the edge some, what, fifteen feet up? He could hear Catalina's voice arguing with the colonel, demanding that Don Pablo be hauled back up out of that terrible hole at once.

"You really don't understand the concept of an oubliette, do you, Reyes?" the colonel's voice said. "It is a place you put someone to forget about him. Or her."

There was a shriek, and a dark shape plummeted toward Artie. Automatically he braced himself to try to break the figure's fall. Oof again!

The colonel laughed. "You and your man were looking for a bit of seclusion off by yourselves? Well, now you have all the seclusion you could wish for! _Adios_, Reyes. _Adios _forever." The women closed the door over the pit again with a clang and relocked it. She then gathered her subordinates and they filed away, taking the light with them.

Into the gloom, Artie asked, "Cat? Are you all right?"

"_Sí_, I… I think so. _Gracias_, Señor Gordon, for catching me. You are all right as well?"

"Oh yes, don't worry about me." Working as quickly as he could in the dark, he untied the ropes binding her hands, then gently massaged her abraded wrists. "But you're calling me by the wrong name again," he said.

"_Lo siento_, Pablo. I am sorry."

He chuckled. "Oh, there's no point in that now, is there? You might as well just call me Artemus."

"All right, ah, Artemus." She fell silent, then said, "What are we going to do now?"

"Ah, well, _nil desperandum_, dear lady! Where there's a will, there's a way, hmm? Although…"

"Although?"

"Well, we don't want to escape too quickly."

"We don't?" She turned that over in her head for a moment, but not coming up with a reason, she asked, "Why not?"

Again he chuckled. "Why, it's simple, sweet Cat: if we escape too quickly, the guards will still be close by. We don't want to run right back into them, so we'll wait just a bit first." His voice dropping to a whisper, he added, "And in the meantime…"

He drew her close and kissed her again. It was still a bit of a shock to her that he should do so, and yet… and yet it was a lovely experience, to have a man's arms around her again, to feel the press of his lips against hers. For a moment, there in the dark, she thought of José and surrendered herself to the kiss.

Then she pushed him away. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm your suitor, aren't I?" His arms began to pull her close again.

"You just said there was no point in pretending here. There is no one here to see us, for we are alone, just the two of us. So why are you kissing me?"

"I…" He paused, then slowly released her. "I… don't know. I keep… I start to concentrate on my work as usual, and the next thing I know, I want to pull you into my arms and start kissin' on you." Even in the dark, she knew his face was puzzled. "That's not like me. I don't let a woman distract me. What's going on?"

"My wife would know."

Both Artie and Catalina jumped nearly a foot in the air. "What…?"

There came the scratch of a match, and the resulting flame was applied to a candle. In that wavering light, a man's face peered at them. An old man he was, with a long beard streaked with gray. "Hello," he said. "I am _Vachko _Petroshko. What did you two do to get tossed into the oubliette?"


	9. Act 3, Part 2

**Act Three, Part Two ~~~**

Jim stealthily followed the maid through the halls to a parlor where she entered and placed the carafe with the other varied bottles of potables at the liquor cabinet. She then glided about the room, tidying up, gathering the governess' abandoned yarn and needles and tucking them into the knitting bag, which she then moved to a table by the door. She also collected the used glasses that remained from when the baroness had entertained her guests here earlier in the evening. A half-full carafe with another heart-shaped tag about its neck had been left out on the table, and the maid returned it to the cabinet. Satisfied now that the room would pass muster, the maid left again, never having noticed the handsome shadow that had trailed her here.

Jim entered quietly and moved to the liquor cabinet. He lifted the carafe he'd been following, removed the stopper, and took a cautious sniff. Well, it didn't smell of bitter almonds at least, so it wasn't prussic acid. He considered taking a taste.

There was a sound as the door began to open. Swiftly Jim pulled both tags off their carafes and placed them on another full carafe in the liquor cabinet. He then hurried for a curtained archway to conceal himself.

And as he swept the curtain aside, he found himself looking down the barrel of an elegant little derringer held in the steady hand of Baroness Gorashche.

…

"I am surprised, Koloshko," said the prince. He and the captain were in the hired carriage, heading for the consulate.

"Surprised, my prince?"

"Yes, I was not expecting the consulate to be situated so very far outside the city."

"I suppose the land was easier to acquire?" Koloshko offered.

"Hmm. Perhaps. But I am further surprised that Vazilje has sent as escort for us only one rider, and that is a girl. Very pretty girl…" he added, gazing out the carriage window at the escort in question.

The captain turned to look at the girl as well, noting her military air and the revolver at her side. "Hmm," was the only comment he made this time.

…

"Well, well, well! It is one of our American guests from this afternoon. What a pleasant surprise!" The baroness stepped forward, forcing Jim back into the parlor. "Look what we have here, Nevje!"

The bulldog-faced chief guard grinned as she crossed the room to catch West by the arm. She gave a whistle and several more guards poured into the room.

"But he has been playing with the tags on the carafes, Nevje. Keep that in mind when our, ah, other guest arrives momentarily."

"Yes, my lady."

"And in the meantime…"

"The oubliette?"

"Hmm? No…" The freshly-minted widow raked her eyes over James West, and she smiled lazily. "No, I believe I should like to question this one in privacy. Very great privacy. Take him to my most secluded office. I will join you there shortly."

…

Artie explained things briefly to the old man, who nodded in understanding. "Yes, the baroness, she has certain things she believes in, and woe to those who cross her! For my part, I came to be thrown in here because I pleaded with her, as a latter-day Moses you might say, to let my people go. And my reward, as you can see, was a trip to the oubliette."

"Let your people go?" asked Artie.

And Catalina, frowning, said, "I do not understand. You say that you are _Vachko _Petroshko, a father in the Church, yes? And yet you mention your wife?"

"He's from the Pterovnian Orthodox Church, Cat," said Artie. "Am I right? In the Eastern Church, married men may become priests."

"Yes, you are right, young man. And now, did you not say that we could try to get out once the guards were well away?"

"Yes, yes I did," said Artie, looking up at the iron bars above them.

"What about that little wind-up device you had earlier?" said Catalina. "The one you used to unlock the door of the linen closet?"

Artie shook his head. "That was in the pocket of my jacket. They took the jacket from me and didn't return it."

"Ah, _sí_, so they did. Then what will you do?"

He smiled at her and patted her cheek. "Didn't I tell you _nil desperandum?_ Just because I no longer have the jacket and therefore cannot have something up my sleeve…" and he tugged up the hem of his pants leg, "it doesn't mean I can't have something in my sock!"

And indeed there was something in his sock. He pulled out a hollow metal tube perhaps a foot in length, with a second piece of metal tucked down inside it. He flipped the tube over so that the interior piece of metal slid out. A length of string now dropped out of the open end of the tube as well. Setting the tube with its dangling string aside, he pressed a small lever on the side of the other piece of metal, causing a trio of arms to pop out all around, turning it into a grapnel. He set that aside as well, then from around his waist he produced a long cord. He tied the end of this firmly to a ring on the side of the grapnel. "Now," he said, "we put this," indicating the grapnel, "into this," and he matched action to his words, popping the grapnel back into the tube from whence it had come. "And next…" He knelt and rested the closed end of the tube on the ground, looking up at the grating above their heads, working out just where he wanted to aim the tube. Holding it firmly in place, he told the others, "You might want to stand all the way over there, please," and once they were well away, Artie yanked on the string.

_Foom! _There was a puff of propellant, and the grapnel sailed up and through the grid work, catching in the iron bars. Artie tugged on the cord, setting the grapnel firmly, then climbed up. Hooking an arm through the iron grid, he pulled from his other sock a large iron screw. This he jammed solidly into the dirt wall, twisting it deeply into place in order to give himself something secure to stand on.

And now he was ready to work on the lock itself. From a little pocket sewn into his shirt at the back of his neck, he produced a small glass vial. This he carefully emptied into the keyhole on the lock. He leaned back well away from the lock as fumes curled up out of it. After a bit he gave the lock a tug and it fell open. "_Voilà!_" he beamed and he opened the door. He then climbed out and allowed the other end of the cord to dangle back down into the pit. "Up you come," he said.

The governess had a bit of trouble climbing the rope, but once she was up, the old man snuffed his candle and swarmed up the rope in a trice. As Artie coiled the cord again to put it away, he asked, "Now, what was that you were saying about letting your people go?"

"My people are the Pterovnian miners who have tunneled out all this," said _Vachko _Petroshko, gesturing at the shaft they were in.

"Miners?"

"_Dasda_, yes. My son Niko, he is one of the miners. They were told that they would be well paid for their work beneath the consulate, but they have been paid nothing at all. Worse, they are kept here below ground, they and their families, as if they were slaves or prisoners." He gave a short laugh. "And what happens when I go before the baroness to plead with her to right this wrong?"

"You get tossed in the oubliette."

"Precisely! At least it is not like the pit into which Daniel of old was thrown, hmm? No lions in it. Of course, that means I missed the opportunity to see an angel appear to stop their mouths."

Artie scouted about and found a torch, which he lit. "Oh, there was an angel," he commented.

"There was? What angel?" asked the old priest.

Artie inclined his head at the governess. "The lovely little lady there, of course!"

The silence from both Catalina and the old man drew Artie's attention. "What?" he said.

"No matter what the artists may draw and paint, angels of God are not pretty women, but fierce and frightening warriors," said the priest.

And Catalina added, "You're doing it again. You no longer need to pretend to be my suitor, remember?"

Artie paused, then laughed. "Oh, you're right. It keeps coming over me though, almost as if… well…"

"Almost as if you were in love with her?" asked Petroshko.

"Come to think of it, yes!" said Artie. "And you said your wife would know what this is about?"

"_Dasda_. In our Pterovnian folklore, there are tales of women who make potions to cause a man to fall in love, you see."

"A love philter!" Artie stopped and stared at him. "Oh, you're kidding me!"

"Not at all. Come, I will take you to meet her. You can meet all of us." And with Artie carrying the torch in one hand, his other hand holding Catalina's, they followed the old priest through the dark tunnels beneath the consulate.

…

Jim was escorted, none too gently, through the linen closet and down to the underground office. Colonel Nevje and her guardswomen were obviously enjoying themselves, poking and prodding the man as they descended the steps, then flinging him into the middle of the office floor once they arrived. He rolled and started to come to his feet, but the colonel was right there driving her hobnailed boot down upon his chest, pinning him to the floor. She grinned down at him evilly, leaning forward to put all her weight upon his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. "You and I," she said, "we shall have some fun, yes?"

Jim met her eyes coolly, betraying nothing in his expression. Suddenly his hand hit the back of her other knee, knocking her off balance. As she staggered to keep herself from falling, Jim sprang to his feet again and bolted for the exit through the gaggle of other female guards. One of them blocked his way, a revolver in her hand.

Jim stopped, hands high, a light smile on his face. He was just turning up the charm as usual toward the gun-wielding girl when the colonel spat out some words in Pterovnian, then switched to English. "Back off!" she ordered the guard. "This man is mine!"

The girl holstered her weapon, and Jim pivoted to face the chief guard once again. "I'm not surprised you want no competition," he said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She glared at him piggishly, then spat in each of her palms before balling them into fists.

Jim's eyebrow arched. "Oh, you want to _fight! _I thought you had something else in mind, the sort of competition in which pretty girls always leave you behind in their dust."

Nevje growled and charged at him. Jim waited till she was nearly upon him, then sidestepped and gave her an almost casual swat on the rear as she passed, sending her face first into a nearby chair.

As her guards gasped and tried not to giggle, Nevje jumped to her feet and came after him again, only to have him sidestep once more, this time making sure that his foot interfered with hers so that she sprawled on the carpet.

She boiled up from the floor once more. "Stand still and fight me!" she snarled.

Jim looked her in the eye and said, "I'm not the sort of man who likes to hit a woman - but in your case, I'm willing to make an exception."

In a fury she charged at him yet again, only to be brought up short by the sound of her own name. "Colonel Nevje!"

The colonel halted herself and came to attention. "Yes, my lady!" She turned toward the door where stood the baroness, dressed in a silky black peignoir and with a carafe in her hand.

As the guards tried to hide their shock at her attire, Baroness Vazilje strode in, caught Nevje's eye, and gave a jerk of her head toward the door. "Yes, my lady!" cried the colonel and ordered all the guards from the room.

"And you as well," said the baroness.

"My… my lady?"

"Go, Nevje! I am perfectly capable of, ah, handling our young guest all by myself. Alone!"

"Y-yes, my lady." The colonel followed her guards out the door, which the baroness then locked. With a smirk at Jim, she took the key, dangled it, then dropped it down into the plunging neckline of her peignoir. "Well now, Mr, ah… West, was it? Shall we get better acquainted?"

…

The three traveled by torch light for only a short distance before they found a locked gate blocking their way. Artie passed the torch off to the old priest and produced a blob of putty from somewhere in his clothing. He kneaded the putty, then rolled it between his palms into a thick snake which he wound around the lock of the gate. Next he tugged a length of the decorative stitching out of the waistband of his trousers and pressed the end of that string into the putty. "_Vachko_, if you would?" he now said.

"Ah, that is a fuse?" said the old man.

"Mm-hmm."

The priest touched the flame of his torch to the fuse, then all three dodged back, Artie catching Catalina in his arms, using his own body to shield her from the explosion.

One loud _bam!_ later, and the gate swung open, its lock destroyed. The priest led the way on deeper into the tunnels.

…

Jim eyed the baroness warily as she circled him, her own eyes roving freely over his manly form, a small smile on her face. Jim returned the smile. After all, while her immediate plans for him were all too apparent, he was still hoping to learn what her plans were for the prince.

Her hand toyed with his collar for a moment. Then, her eyes hard, she said, "This comes off!"

"My lady?"

"The shirt. The shirt comes off."

Meeting her eyes steadily, Jim leisurely removed his jacket, then the vest and ascot, and finally the shirt itself. She smiled and for a moment Jim was sure there was a touch of real delight in her eyes. "Oh, now that is what a man should look like!" she breathed. "Do you know what it is like to have to go to bed night after night with a man whose belly makes him look as if he is pregnant?"

"Not really, no."

She rested her eyes on his bare chest, a speculative look in her eye. "I shall never marry again, you know. I shall never again give any man that sort of power over me. But it would be, ah, interesting to have a little something on the side." She chuckled throatily. "Men do it all the time. And what is that English saying? 'Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander'?" She poured a glass of wine from the carafe she had brought down with her, then swirled the wine in the glass mesmerizingly. "I visited Ekatje again after you muddled the tags up, you naughty boy. She gave me a new carafe, this one. I've had all the others taken away, so there shall be no confusion as to which wine shall be served to the prince. This wine and this alone is suitable for his palate! And yet… there is plenty enough here for the prince's visit, even if someone else should happen to taste it first. Someone such as… you, Mr West." She held the glass out to him.

"What is it?"

"Oh, some of the very finest drink we Pterovnians make. Pterovnian _women_, that is. Ekatje is a mistress of the art of, ah, wine mixing, shall we say." She pressed the glass into his hand.

"Some of the wine especially prepared for the Crown Prince? I'm honored." He nodded to her and lifted the glass. Noting the avaricious look in her eye as the glass drew near his lips, Jim paused and said, the wine as yet untasted, "But tell me, Baroness, why do you want the prince to come here? If your husband, whom you loved so well, really had evidence regarding the king's assassination, why do you insist on handing it over to the prince personally here? You could have brought it to him at Washington, or even at New Orleans. Or once he arrived in San Francisco, you could have met the prince at his hotel suite or at our train. Why do you need him here at the consulate?"

She glared at him. "You ask too many questions!"

He smiled in return. "It's a habit."

Coldly she ordered him, "Drink!" Ah, and there was that pesky little derringer in her hand again.

What was in the wine? he wondered. If this were Artie being ordered at gun point to drink something, Jim knew that his partner would pull a little sleight of hand, some sort of misdirection, then dump the drink and pretend to have just finished it when the villain looked at him again. Jim didn't see himself being able to carry that off. But then, he was adept at another form of distraction. "Baroness," he said softly, his eyes locked on hers, "since I must drink, let me drink to your eyes, your lips, your beauty."

"Don't patronize me…! My beauty?" And her hand came up to touch her hair.

Jim notched up the charm a bit and reached toward her as if to take her in his arms. He paused, and with an apologetic shrug set the glass down. His hands now free and empty, he slipped them around her, and with the thought of the things he had to do in the line of duty, he bent to press his lips to hers.

The kiss never landed. "Oh, very clever, Mr West, but it won't work. Now, drink!"

Staring into the barrel of the derringer once more, Jim picked up the glass.

There came a hammering at the door. "Go away!" growled the baroness. "I am not to be disturbed!"

"But, my lady!" came the voice of Colonel Nevje. "The prince has arrived!"

"The prince!" The baroness took up the carafe and swept toward the door where she held a whispered conference with her chief guard. She glanced over her shoulder at James West, said, "I'll see to you later!" then hurried from the room, leaving Jim in the kindly hands of Colonel Nevje.

"My lady wishes you to stay and enjoy our company a bit longer," said the colonel as she swaggered over to him. "And as she does not yet wish to forget about you, you shall have somewhere other than the oubliette in which to bide your time until my lady's return. And accordingly…" From behind her back the colonel's hand, gripping a blackjack, sprang forward, bashing Jim over the head. "Pleasant dreams, Mr West!" she said as he collapsed on the carpet at her feet.


	10. Act 3, Part 3

**Act Three, Part Three ~~~**

After a while the tunnels opened out into something of a tent city. People were cooking over a multitude of campfires, and as the three refugees from the oubliette approached, heads began to turn and voices to murmur, "_Vachko! Vachko!_"

The old man passed the torch to Artemus, gathered the skirts of his robe, and hurried on toward one particular tent.

A small child reached the tent ahead of him and pushed aside the flap that served as a door, gabbling excitedly and pointing toward the newcomers. Now the flap was swept aside as a young man followed by an older woman came out the door.

"_Vachko!_" cried the one, and "Petroshko!" the other. They started running as well, and shortly the two of them met up with the old man in a happy confusion of hugs and kisses.

"Come, come!" the old priest waved to his former pit-mates. "This is my son Niko," he said, "and my beloved wife Elenje. And these…" He turned to his family to present to them his new friends, only to laugh and add, "Why, in our rush to escape from the pit, I do not believe the pair of you ever gave me your names!"

Artie rectified that quickly, introducing himself and the governess. His hand had stolen into hers once more, and she held their clasped hands up before his eyes. "Ah, yes," said Artie. "_Zerinje _Elenje, if you don't mind, your husband tells me you know something about love philters?"

…

The door to the nursery suite slammed open, jarring both of the baroness' children from their slumbers. A group of four guards barged in, then flung open the door of Mireje's room. As she sprang upright in her bed, blinking and gripping the covers under her chin, one of the guards marched over and seized the girl's arm. "Come!" the guard ordered. "Get up and get dressed!"

"Wha… What?"

The guard yanked her from the bed, spilling her onto the floor. "I said, Get up!"

Mireje scrambled up, staring at the angry women surrounding her. "What is going on? Why are you doing this? When my mother finds out how you are treating me…"

"Your mother sent us!" said one of the guards. "Dress yourself and come!"

At the door, unnoticed by the guards, Andreshko stood and gaped in consternation. What were they doing to Mireje? Where were they taking her? As a guard crossed to the wardrobe and grabbed a fine gown from it, flinging it at Mireje was a snarl of, "Wear this!" the boy slipped away to the bookcase, reached up and tipped one of the books forward onto its spine, then stepped back. With a click the bookcase swung out and the boy hurried through the opening, pulling the case closed again behind him. Smoothly the tipped book swiveled itself upright again, leaving everything the same as it had been before, as if nothing had happened.

Padding along barefoot in his nightclothes, Andreshko ran through the secret passageways to look for Mr West. Mireje was in danger!

…

"My prince!" Baroness Vazilje exclaimed effusively as she made her appearance in the entrance hall. Dressed in an exquisite turquoise gown, the baroness handed off a carafe to a maid and nodded in the direction of the parlor, then swept forward to embrace Stepanko, making air kisses at either side of his face. "Come with me," she said, putting her hand through his arm before he had time to offer it. "Your lovely cousin Mireje is so looking forward to seeing you again!"

"Ah, little Mireje! And Andreshko too. How long has it been?"

"Oh, you shall find that little Mireje is not so little anymore, my dear!" With Captain Koloshko trailing along in their wake, the baroness conveyed the prince to the parlor door. A pair of pretty young guards opened the doors for them. How quaint the prince found these; who would have thought of dressing up maids as soldiery! He smiled winsomely at the girls as he entered the parlor.

Stopping in the doorway, the baroness said to her royal guest, "I am afraid I have a trifling matter to clear up that requires my immediate attention, Your Majesty. Pray excuse me." She bowed herself out of His Majesty's presence and the guards shut the door behind her. With a nod to Captain Koloshko, the woman now led him off to her first floor office to closet herself there with the prince's loyal retainer.

…

"But I still don't understand," said Artie. "All four of us drank from the same bottle. None of the glasses were doctored; I'm a naturally suspicious type, and I was watching. I was not forced to take any glass in particular, and I didn't drink from my glass until after both the baroness and her pet goon Nevje did. So how is it that this love philter only affected me?"

Elenje smiled. "It is because you were the only man who drank of it. It affects only men."

"It…" Artie's mouth hung open for a second. "Well, that's convenient!" he said once he had regained his composure.

"Yes. There is a kind that is for causing a man to fall in love, and a different kind to cause a woman to fall in love. They have used on you the first kind. And," the priest's wife added, "I suppose that only you and _Zerinje _Reyes here were in the room when you drank?"

"Nevje tossed off a good bit of hers," Artie recalled, "and then the baroness sent her from the room. After I drank…"

"_Sí_," put in Catalina, "after you drank, the baroness excused herself and left hurriedly. We commented on how quickly she rushed from the room."

Elenje nodded. "Yes, I'm sure she all but ran! The philter causes a man to fall in love with the first woman who catches his attention. They needed to ensure that this woman was left alone with you to capture your attention."

"She certainly did!" said Artie, taking hold of Catalina's hand and raising it to his lips. He paused, winced, and released her hand. "My apologies, _querida_. I, I mean, my apologies, señora…"

"It is all right," the governess assured him. "At least now we understand why you have been acting toward me in this manner."

Turning again to Elenje, Artie asked, "So what do we do now? Is there a way to counteract the philter?"

"Indeed there is, _Merinko_ Gordon! Three things must befall the man, but I will warn you, you may not like them."

"Oh, don't worry about that! As long as I can get back to normal, I won't complain a bit!" Again he winced, and turned to the governess. "I must apologize again, _querida_. I, I mean, Señora Reyes. I have nothing against you. You're a lovely lady, and… and… In fact… Oh, Cat, what a very lovely lady you are!" He looked her over, his eyes devouring her as he took her hand and pulled her close once again. And then, to everyone's surprise, Artie abruptly fetched himself a ringing slap across the cheek. "Ok, I'm better now," he said. "Now, what do we do?"

Elenje dimpled at him. "It is funny that you should ask after what you just did!" said she. "Come with me!"

…

Andreshko hurried down the hidden passage, pausing as he came to each of the covert peepholes along the way to take a glance through them. He saw nothing of Mr West, nor of his sister and the guards. He soon reached his mother's office and here he looked out through the two-way mirror. He could see the room by gas light but no one was within. With a growl of frustration, the boy rushed on.

It was only moments later that the baroness, smiling graciously, ushered Captain Koloshko into the office and closed the door behind him. And then, with a vicious snarl, she backhanded him across the face.

"My lady!" he protested, his hand springing to cover his cheek.

"You fool! You imbecile! Just when did you plan to ever bring the prince to me? You have bungled this entire plan! You permitted those, those _Americans _to push themselves into our business…"

"And how was I to avoid them? The ambassador dotes on them and all but shoved them down my throat. How was I to say 'No'? In fact, I sent them away, but somehow they returned."

"Still, to have sent them out here in lieu of the prince this afternoon!"

"Again, they made up their minds and I was not permitted to stop them. They are here now, my lady, and I had no opportunity to warn you."

"Ah yes, that man West. Yes, we have him already, no thanks to you."

"And Gordon?"

The baroness frowned at him. "What do you mean, and Gordon?"

"Why, he was to come even before West! He disguised himself and has been playing the part of your governess' suitor." And as the baroness gaped at him, Kolushko went on to expose the whole plan to her, including the fact that Señora Reyes had come to the prince's suite that afternoon and was fully involved in the Americans' plan.

"She… she has betrayed me?" Stunned, the baroness sat down suddenly in a chair. "She has betrayed her own sex into the hands of men?" Her eyes hardened and she leapt up again. "Well! As it happens, Kolushko, we have already dealt with both the governess and her so-called suitor."

"You… you have?"

"Indeed, yes! They are in our oubliette. Would you care to see? Colonel Nevje shall take you there and you may see for yourself that I, Baroness Vazilje Gorashche, am well able to deal with all my enemies, both known and unknown." And she went to the door and called over one of the young guardswomen to go and fetch the colonel.

…

The priest's wife led Artie over to one of the other campfires, where she whispered to some of the people standing nearby. They nodded, and then from amongst them stepped forth a gorgeous young lady with large luminous eyes and perfect skin. Shyly she came up to Artie, cast her eyes upon him, then slipped her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss. She leaned back and smiled up at him. He grinned back crookedly at her, wondering what was going on.

And then she slapped him so hard the walls echoed with it.

"Yikes!" cried Artie, his hand springing to cover his cheek.

Catalina, in sympathy, touched her own battered cheek.

A moment later all the men standing around that campfire let out a holler that sent Artie's mind spinning back to the days of the War and the eerie, blood-curdling sound of the Rebel yell. The miners swooped down upon the agent, snatching him up and bearing him along as they continued to whoop and holler. As Artie tried instinctively to break free, they hauled him through a short side passage in the tunnels into the large open space beyond. By the light of some ensconced torches here, Artie had just enough time to see an expanse of black yawning at their feet - just enough time for him to groan out, "Not another pit!" - before they flung him forward into the inky depths.

_Splash! _He sank down into and under the dark waters, then bobbed up to the surface again, spluttering and soaked. "Hey!" he yelled. "Warn a guy next time!"

Elenje was there at the edge of the water now, waiting for him with her arms full of towels. Shaking her head, she told him, "_Teshnante djo, Merinko_ Gordon. My profoundest apologies, but for the charm to be broken, the man must not be warned ahead of time of the precise nature of the three things which are to befall him."

"Three things…" said Artie as he found his footing and waded ashore. He accepted a towel from the priest's wife and began to dry himself off. "Well, obviously the dunking was one of these. And the slap was one as well. And the other? That was the kiss, I suppose?"

"A kiss from some woman other than the object of desire of the man influenced by the philter, yes. And now…" She turned and gave the rest of the towels to Catalina. "Help him to get dry," she said.

"Oh, but…!" the governess protested.

"Yes," said Artie, "why are you throwing her right back at me?"

"To prove to you both that the charm is broken. I will return shortly with some dry clothes for you to borrow, _Merinko_ Gordon," said Elenje. She shooed everyone else out, leaving the two of them alone by the underground lake.

Keeping her hands to herself and her eyes turned away, Catalina passed Artie towel after towel until he was satisfied that he was as dry as he could get without taking off his sopping clothes, which he was not about to do in front of her. When he stopped asking for new towels, she ventured a glance at him and asked, "How do you feel now?"

"Well, I…" He paused and looked at her appraisingly, a slight frown on his face. "Well," he repeated at last, "I really think there's only one way for me to know for sure." And to her shock, he swept her into his arms again and, holding her tightly, he planted a huge kiss on her lips.

**End of Act Three**


	11. Act 4, Part 1

**Act Four, Part One ~~~**

Artie released Catalina and gently touched her face. With a smile he said, "That's it then. No more fog in my brain, or stars in my eyes, or butterflies in my stomach. I am in fact cured. Um… Are _you _all right?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Because I'm sure I had you very confused there. I was supposed to act like a suitor toward you, but not quite that much, hmm?"

She nodded again, and he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Cat?"

She turned away and patted at her eyes with a towel. "It is nothing," she said.

"In my experience, whenever a woman says, 'It's nothing,' it's always really something, and usually a very large something," Artie remarked. He sighed and said to her softly, "You're a widow. I can imagine it felt pretty good to be kissed again, didn't it? To have a man making a fuss over you again, right?"

She said nothing, but would not look at him.

"I don't know exactly how it is for you, Cat… And does it bother you for me to continue to call you that?"

She shrugged, her arms wrapping the remaining towels close to her bosom.

"As I say, I don't exactly know how it is for you as a widow; I've never suffered that kind of loss, but I… well, once upon a time, I was in love," he said. "It didn't end well. I proposed and she turned me down. I know that doesn't begin to compare with the loss you have suffered, my dear Cat… er, Catalina, but it gives me a glimmer and I…" His hand landed lightly on her shoulder. "Because of that jolly little philter of theirs, for a while tonight, I felt the way I used to feel with her. And perhaps you felt a little of what you used to feel with your José?"

After a pause, she nodded and raised a corner of a towel to her face again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so very sorry."

"It is not your fault," she replied. "It was not your doing, but theirs."

"Still, if in any way my actions under its influence hurt you, I am profoundly sorry."

She gave a soft laugh. "You are a good man, Señor… that is, Artemus. Your lost love, I think, was foolish to let you get away."

He chuckled. "Well, thank you, my dear. I think so to! Ah…"

She turned to face him now. "Ah?"

"It occurs to me… We may well run into the baroness and her lady thugs again in the course of getting out of here, and if we do, they will expect me to still be in the throes of that philter, and likely it will be better if they don't realize we've broken it."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning if I suddenly start pitching woo at you again, just play along. You know, act confused."

She laughed. "Believe me, Artemus," she said, "if I am confused around you, it will be no act!"

…

There! Having dispatched Colonel Nevje to escort the prince's captain to the oubliette, the baroness now turned her attention to the matter of her pretty but vacuous daughter. The guards were conducting the girl along the hallway, nearly to her office, when the baroness stepped forth.

"Ah, there you are, Mireje!" said the baroness gaily. "Come, my dear. You have a guest awaiting you." With a curt nod of her head, the baroness dismissed the guards.

"A… a guest?"

"Yes, my dear. He is in the parlor even now, in expectation of your arrival."

"But, _Mushche_," said Mireje, finding her mother's vivacious manner baffling, "a guest at this time of night? What…?"

"Hush your prattle!" the baroness commanded and Mireje fell silent. This, indeed, was the mother she was used to!

The baroness, gripping the girl's arm, rushed Mireje through the corridors to the parlor. Stopping before the doors, she quickly fussed over Mireje's dress and hair, then said, "Now. Go in and entertain him. Pour him some wine, and do try to be sparkling in your conversation! I shall be along again shortly."

"But…"

The baroness nodded to the two guards still keeping the doors, and they swept them open.

…

The secret passage made a circuit of the reception hall, and Andreshko checked every peephole of that room's perimeter, as well as the two-way mirror. The room was empty however. Where could Mr West be? And where might the guards be taking Mireje? He hurried on, coming shortly to the parlor and the mirror that looked into that room. And here the boy skidded to a halt. At last he had spotted someone! There was a young man in this room, a fine-looking man in fine-looking clothes. The man, in fact, was admiring himself in the mirror at this very moment, giving Andreshko a good look at his supercilious bearing as the young man adjusted his well-waxed mustaches and peered at his teeth. Obviously satisfied, he tugged his befrogged jacket straight, then turned sideways and pulled in his stomach, smiling at himself.

What a peacock! The boy shook his head and moved on. And so he missed seeing the doors open and his mother and sister enter.

"Your Majesty!" called the baroness, decorously hauling Mireje into the parlor. "May I present my daughter, your cousin, _Zernkje _Mireje Gorashche! And Mireje, my dear, this is your cousin the Crown Prince Stepanko."

Stunned, the young woman dropped into a low curtsey. "Y-your Majesty," she stammered.

Stepanko stepped forward, his face lighting up as he took in this vision of loveliness that brought a smile to his face and a sparkle to his eye. Taking her hand, he raised her from the curtsey and bowed to her, lifting her dainty fingers to his lips. "How good to see you again, my dear Mireje. I am delighted, utterly delighted, to make your acquaintance again after all these years. And I must say," he added as he straightened and smiled down glowingly at her, "the years have been very good to you, my dear. Very good indeed!"

With a curtsey of her own, Baroness Vazilje said, "Your pardon, my prince, but I have certain matters to attend to that will not keep. Mireje, do pour the prince some wine. I imagine the two of you have a great deal to catch up on after so many years apart!"

"Oh, but of course, Vazilje," said the prince. "I'm sure Mireje and I shall get along just swimmingly in your absence."

"But…" said the girl, only to find herself staring at the doors closing behind her mother's back.

Well, the baroness thought contentedly as she strode off from the parlor, trust a man to, as ever, be so captivated by a pretty face as to be led to his destruction!

…

Colonel Nevje, along with a cadre of guards, led Captain Kolushko through the dark tunnels to the oubliette. "Well, Reyes!" called the colonel as they arrived, "it seems you and Don Pablo have a visitor. Or should I say, you and the American Gordon have a visitor!"

Silence greeted her gloating. With a frown, the colonel waved forward some of the torchbearers so that she could peer into the pit, but if there was anyone down there, none of those clustered around the edge above could discern them.

Frowning more deeply, the colonel produced her keys and reached for the lock, only to find it was missing. "Where is the lock?" she exclaimed. Flinging the door open, she called for a rope, then looked over her guardswomen to choose one to send into the abyss. Ah, but no…

"Kolushko! Go down there and search the oubliette!"

The man began to protest, but desisted when the colonel reminded him, "A colonel outranks a captain, even when the colonel serves a baroness and the captain a prince." And in addition to pulling rank on him, she also happened to pull a gun. "Into the pit with you!"

And so Kolushko shortly found himself at the bottom of the oubliette. He made a cursory examination and reported back, "There is no one here!"

"Hmm. Where can they have gone? Women, search the tunnels! Find the prisoners!" She sent them off in every direction.

"And what of me?" the captain called up.

"You?" The colonel laughed as she clanged the door of the oubliette closed again and tied it shut with the rope. "You can rot in there for all I or the baroness care."

…

Jim woke slowly, his head pounding. What had hit…? Oh yes, the happy colonel with her little friend. He listened before giving any sign that he was awake. Hmm, he heard no sounds other than his own breathing. He seemed to be alone.

Now he opened his eyes. All right, that was interesting. He was in what looked like a small bedroom, tastefully furnished with a table and chair and of course the bed upon which he lay. The table even had a damask cloth covering it, and the bed a elaborately embroidered quilt. Light spilled over him from gas lamps burning brightly. This was a jail cell?

He sat up and gingerly fingered the sore spot on his head. No nausea, so perhaps he had avoided a concussion. For a moment he simply perched on the edge of the bed and took in his surroundings: the wallpaper with its delicate pattern of grapevines, the chair with its overstuffed cushion, the small stack of books piled on the table alongside a covered dish. Food? Oh, and a glass of wine! _The _glass of wine, he presumed. Catch him drinking that! His clothing which the baroness had divested him of, however, was nowhere in evidence.

Now… It was time to make a decision. He could either escape, or else he could stay put. He weighed the pros and cons for each option, and the main point he saw for either option was that, if he stayed in captivity, he might yet learn the baroness' plan, and so be able to foil her.

He got up then and lifted the lid on the covered dish. Ah, it certainly smelled good! It was some variation on beef stroganoff, one of Artie's favorites. He covered it again untasted and started making a circuit of the room, studying everything, getting an idea for anything he might turn into a weapon if need be, or use to escape if he changed his mind about staying right where he was.

He was working his way along the wall opposite the door, rapping his knuckles against it and listening to the echo - it sounded hollow - when a very surprised young voice said, "Who is that?"

Jim's eyebrows rose. "Andreshko?"

"Mr West? Oh, how wonderful! I have found you!"

"You were looking for me?"

"_Dasda! _Yes! Guards came and took Mireje away, and I do not know what to do!"

"Guards took Mireje? Your mother's guards?"

"_Dasda!_" The boy sounded terribly frightened. "Why would she do that? If she had _Vachko _killed, what…" His voice faltered. "What might she do to Mireje?"

The kid had a point; his sister might well be in deadly danger. All right, that was a point in favor of escaping that topped all Jim's reasons for remaining in this cell. "Where are you, son?" he asked. "Are you in a secret passage beyond this wall?"

"_Dasda_."

"Is there a door?"

"I… I do not see a door."

"Look for hinges," Jim advised.

Silence met his ears for a bit while the boy checked. Then, "Oh! Yes, I see hinges, Mr West!"

"And a latch?" Jim was thoroughly checking the wall on his side as well, touching and jiggling anything and everything that looked like it might be a hidden catch… Ah!

There was a soft _click_ and a narrow section of the wall swung outward. Beyond was a passage much like what Jim had seen before, and within it stood young Andreshko in his pajamas. "Hello, Mr West!" the boy said brightly.

"Where did they take your sister?" said Jim briskly.

"I do not know. I have been looking through the peep holes and two-way mirrors as I searched for you, but I did not see her anywhere. Oh!" The boy's hand flew over his mouth.

"You've thought of something. What is it?"

"Oh, it is only that I hope they have not taken her to the oubliette!"

"Oubli… Show me!"

…

Mireje smiled at the prince nervously. _Mushche _was up to something; the girl was certain of that, but what? Unsure of herself in the presence of royalty, not to mention how timid she felt in the face of his attentive glances, she crossed to the liquor stand. There she lifted the sole carafe, barely noticing the heart-shaped tag tied round its neck as she followed her mother's command and poured a glass of wine for the prince and one for herself as well.

Accepting the glass from her fair hand, the prince gestured to the loveseat. "Shall we sit, my dear?" She settled herself on the small sofa and he joined her, lifting his glass in salute to her before drinking.

"Ah, an excellent wine!" he was saying when a momentary flush came over him and along with it a brief wave of dizziness. It was as if a fog had invaded his brain and he shook his head to clear it.

"My prince?" said Mireje. "There is something wrong?"

"Wrong? I…" He produced a silk handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. "I… don't believe…" Perhaps he was developing a fever from the change of climate, he thought, and he patted the cloth along the side of his neck as well. Ah, but there, the feeling of oddness was abating. He smiled at his lovely companion and took another sip of wine.

And now, as Prince Stepanko looked over the brim of his glass at his cousin, he found himself instantaneously and utterly captivated by her. Had he thought of her as lovely only moments before? Oh, but such a mild word did not do her justice! She was beautiful, exquisite, delectable, ravishing! How blushingly shy, how fetchingly delightsome, how wide of eye and tender of lip! A pixilated smile spreading across his face, the prince set his glass aside and leaned toward Mireje, taking her hand in his as he came to his feet. "May I have this dance?" he said.

Startled, she replied, "Dance? But, my prince, there is no music."

"With you in my arms, my dear Mireje, who needs music? We shall dance to the music of the beating of our hearts!"

"That's, ah… poetic…" said the girl dubiously.

The prince only laughed and swept her close. Humming happily to himself, he began to waltz her around the parlor.

A smug smile spread across the baroness' face as she stood behind the drapes in the archway, watching. Ah, she nodded, success!

At the sound of approaching footsteps, the baroness turned to see Colonel Nevje hurrying towards her. "My lady!" hissed the chief guard.

The baroness scowled and raised a hand for silence, then led the colonel away to her office. "What is it?" she asked curtly.

"My lady, the oubliette is empty and its occupants have vanished!"

"_What?_"

"My women are searching the tunnels even as we speak!"

The baroness glowered like an oncoming storm for a moment. But then the colonel saw her lady's face clear as her mind changed. A self-satisfied smile wreathing her face, the baroness said, "Recall your women. There is no need to search for the fugitives."

"My, my lady?"

The baroness laughed. "Only consider, Nevje, where can the governess and the American go? There is no escape from the tunnels."

"They will seek refuge amongst the miners!"

"And if they do? Let them stay amongst the miners! Yes, let them stay and slave alongside them and die alongside them! What is that to me? The priest, on the other hand - him I need. I sent him to the oubliette against the moment of my triumph. Go and fetch him at once!"

"Yes, my lady. No doubt he will have returned to the heart of his family in the tunnels."

"Yes, no doubt. Men are such sentimental fools, and easily anticipated! Bring the priest to the reception hall at once, Nevje. He, at least, has a purpose in my plans." She turned away, then added as an afterthought, "Oh, and what of Captain Koloshko?"

The colonel smiled. "He has the oubliette all to himself even now, my lady."

"Good, good. He was willing to betray his prince to me; he shall not have the opportunity to betray me to any other!"

"Yes, my lady," said Colonel Nevje and hurried off to obey.

…

The boy led Jim through the passageway, soon arriving at a doorway that discharged them into an earthen tunnel. As the boy closed the door behind them, Jim looked back and noted how well that door was camouflaged. "Someone went to a lot of work to build these secret passages," he commented.

"Yes," said Andreshko. "The architect told _Vachko _that _Mushche _was paying him to add a secret office for her which would be hidden well below the consulate, so _Vachko _let him have free rein to add more secret passages that _Mushche _was not to know of."

At the troubled look on the boy's face, Jim asked, "Is something wrong?"

"It is only… soon after the consulate was completed, the week that we moved into it, in fact, the architect, ah…"

It wasn't hard to fill in that blank. "He died, did he?"

Andreshko nodded. "An accident, we were told."

"I'm sure," said Jim.

They moved on in silence. Shortly a group of the guardswomen appeared talking among themselves, and Jim pulled the boy into a side passage of the tunnel. After the women hurried past, Jim asked the boy softly, "What were they saying?"

"Colonel Nevje has called off the search and they are to return to the building above us." Looking puzzled, the kid added, "What search?"

"I don't know. Maybe they've figured out I'm missing. Although if that were the case, you wouldn't expect the search to be called off. Come on."

They continued deeper into the tunnels. Shortly they met with a locked gate. Jim started to reach for the lock pick from the lapel of his jacket…

Oh, right. No jacket.

"Is something wrong?" asked Andreshko.

"No," said Jim. He tilted up a foot and pulled the heel off his boot. As the boy looked on in delight to see such a master spy at work, Jim extracted a coil of white cord from within a hollow space in the heel, then quickly reassembled the boot.

"What is that?" Andreshko asked eagerly.

"A strip of magnesium," Jim replied. He wound part of the coil around the lock and pinched off the rest. Tucking the remainder into a pocket, he brought out a match and lit it. "Stand back," he cautioned as he touched the flame to the magnesium.

Sparks sizzled out as the fire worked its way along the strip. In only a matter of moments the fire had burned from one end of the magnesium to the other, and once the fire died out, Jim poked at the lock with a finger.

The padlock sagged and fell to the ground.

Andreshko grinned. "Capital, Mr West! Come, it is not much farther!"

As they walked on, Jim turned to the kid and remarked, "You've obviously been down here before."

"_Dasda_."

"So how did you get past the gates?"

"Oh," he said airily, "_Vachko _gave me the skeleton key to open them all."

"Skeleton key!" said Jim. Stopping dead in his tracks, he planted his hands on his hips and glowered down at the boy. "If you have the key, then why did I have to blow that lock?"

"Oh," said the kid in a small and sheepish voice. "I… Yes, I do have the key, but not on me." He gestured at his pajamas. "I left the key in the nursery, you see."

Jim snorted. "Let me give you a little advice, son. The next time you go running through secret passageways to try to rescue someone, make sure you bring your keys with you!"

"_Dasda_, Mr West." The boy now took off running along the tunnel, then stopped and pointed into a side passage. "Here it is!" he said and led Jim into a room with a large hole in the ground. Jim noted that the grillwork covering the yawning pit was tied shut with a rope.

Leaning close, Jim called out, "Artie? Are you there?"

An infuriated voice from below called back, "No, Mr Gordon is not here!"

"Captain Koloshko? What are you doing down there?" said Jim, going to work on the rope.

"I… I would rather not talk about it," replied the captain. But in the end, once Jim had let down the rope and released the prisoner, he broke down and confessed all.

"I see," said Jim. "I should toss you back down there myself."

Koloshko, heartily embarrassed, nodded his head in agreement. "In fact, you are right, Mr West. I have been a very great fool, and have no excuse for my betrayal of my prince."

"I don't suppose you know what the baroness is planning," Jim added.

"No. Only that it was imperative that I bring the prince here tonight."

"So he's here right now?"

"Yes. Apparently once I had brought him to the consulate, I had outlived my usefulness."

Jim mulled things over for a bit, then said, "All right. Let's go find Artie and see if we can fit all this together." And now he studied the dirt floor to make sense of the tracks he found there. Leading the way, Jim set off in pursuit of his partner, the boy and the captain right on his heels.


	12. Act 4, Part 2

**Act Four, Part Two ~~~**

As the crown prince continued to whirl Mireje about the parlor, the girl began to wonder if perhaps the man might be addled. Was it normal for a man to act this way? Granted, with the lack of men here at the consulate, she did not have many men with whom to compare the prince's actions, but even in the novels she read, the men did not seem to behave themselves so.

Mireje found that she was actually grateful when the door opened to admit her mother. Excusing herself in the middle of yet another waltz, she rushed to the baroness and whispered, "_Mushche_, he is crazy! All he wants to do is waltz! And there is no music!"

"Nonsense, my child. The man is not crazy. He is only in love. Although," her mother added with a smirk, "admittedly it can be hard to distinguish one from the other."

Mireje was taken aback. "In love? With me?" she hissed. "Impossible! We have only just met!"

"No, that is not so; you knew each other as children."

"And have not seen each other since then!" Mireje insisted.

The prince now joined them with a cheerful greeting of, "Ah, but what a charming daughter you have, Vazilje! I cannot recall ever meeting such a thoroughly delightsome young lady as Mireshche!"

The girl suppressed a gasp. He had just bestowed a pet name upon her! Oh no, this was all happening too quickly!

The baroness laughed. "Oh yes, she will be quite a catch for some fine young man. Once we return to Pterovnia…"

"We are returning home?" Mireje interrupted.

Her mother turned a scowl upon her, then continued her sparkling repartee with the prince. "Indeed, once we are home again, I do not doubt but Mireje will be the most sought-after young woman in all Pterovnia! Even Your Majesty himself, I think, will barely have the opportunity to visit with her, so popular shall she be!"

"Oh!" said the prince. He looked at Mireje sharply, his brows knitting. "Oh, but… but we cannot have that!" he said slowly. "I… I do not want competition for Mireje's time. No, nor for her hand either. I…" And abruptly, to the girl's very great astonishment, the prince took her hand in his and got down on one knee. "Mireshche, my beautiful and beloved Mireshche, do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife!" he pleaded, his eyes shining with rapture.

This time the girl gasped aloud. Too quickly, she thought again. This was moving far, far too quickly! She opened her mouth to decline.

And her mother, with a grand smile upon her face, nudged her daughter aside and gushed forth the words, "Oh, Your Majesty, how greatly you honor us! Of course Mireje accepts!"

"But I…"

"In fact, we have a Pterovnian Orthodox priest staying with us here at the consulate even as we speak. If Your Majesty so desires, I can send for him."

"Oh, to marry us at once? What a marvelous idea!"

"But…" said Mireje.

"Come," said the baroness. "Let us go to the reception hall. It is a more suitable setting for a wedding celebration." And slipping her hand through the prince's hastily crooked elbow, the baroness led the way. "Come, Mireje," she called.

Shaking her head, the poor girl trailed along after her mother and her unanticipated fiancé, trying to make sense out of what had just happened.

…

Dressed now in dry clothes, Artie sat by one of the campfires and asked, "But why all these tunnels? What is this about?"

Niko, the priest's son, made an expansive gesture and said, "We ourselves are not entirely sure. We have been directed to dig outwards in all directions from under the consulate. The ends of the tunnels eventually reach the surface where hidden trap doors are installed. In addition, as we have finished each tunnel, a locked gate has been installed to prevent any of us from going into the completed tunnels again."

"Hmm," said Artie. "Hidden trap doors to the surface, you say? Sounds like someone's making plans for an ambush."

"But who would the baroness need to ambush here on the consulate grounds?" said the old priest. "One would think, from all the preparations she has made, that she is making ready to hold off an army!"

"Army…" said Artie, frowning. "But whose? The United States Army? Would she be that reckless, to provoke a war with us? Or is she luring Prince Stepanko here to hold him for ransom perhaps, and expects the armies of Pterovnia to be dispatched here to rescue him?"

"I do not know," said Niko. "But…" and he pulled something out of his pocket, "there are also these."

Artie's eyebrows arched. "May I?" He accepted from the miner a handful of translucent white crystals. Producing a magnifying glass and leaning close to the fire for a better light, Artie examined the crystals, then gave a whistle.

"You know what they are?" asked Niko.

"I'm not quite sure; I'd like to study them in a lab first, but I think I've made a positive identification. Do you know what they are?"

"No," said the miner with a shake of his head. "I only know that when we found them in that tunnel," he gestured, "about a half mile from here, the baroness herself came down to see them. She became very excited and insisted that every piece of them, as we dig them out, must be carried up to her office and locked in her safe."

There was a brief silence, broken at last by Artie's remark of, "_Every _piece of them, Niko?"

The miner grinned. "Well… Every piece that she knows about!"

Artie examined the crystals some more, then said, "Do you mind if I keep these for now?"

Niko shrugged. "They are not my possessions anymore than they are yours. I suppose if they belong to anyone, they would belong to the prince, hmm?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," murmured Artie, looking down the tunnel the miner had indicated. "A half mile from here, you say?"

"Is that important?" asked Catalina.

"Well, considering that the wall I saw around these grounds is nowhere near a half mile in length, yes, I'd say that was of some minor importance."

…

Coming around a corner, Jim drew back his two companions and pointed at the tent city before them. "What's that?" he asked.

"That is where the miners live," said Andreshko.

"Miners. Your mother's idea, I take it?"

The boy nodded. "They are the ones who dug out these tunnels."

"Mining for what?" said Jim, but the boy only shrugged. Looking at the captain, Jim asked him, "Do you know anything about it?"

"No. I am as surprised as you are."

From their place of concealment around the corner from the camp, Jim's eyes swept over the groups of men and women whose features flickered in the fire light. And then he began to smile. "Come on," he said and stepped out boldly, walking right into the tent city.

Miners, rough men with strong bodies, saw the intruders and came to their feet. "Who are you?" some of them challenged, blocking the newcomers' way. Captain Koloshko started to explain, but his words were drowned out by Andreshko's sudden happy cry of "Señora Reyes!"

Her head snapped around at that voice and she leapt up. "Andreshko!"

And Artie, at her side, also surged to his feet, his eyes on one of the men standing with the boy. "Jim!" he cried. And with a laugh, he added, "Trust you to manage to lose your shirt, James my boy!"

…

Once the grand reunion subsided, Niko offered the privacy of his tent for the group to speak together more discreetly. Among the lot of them, there were quite a few notes to be compared, but at length as he shouldered his way into a borrowed shirt, Jim said, "She has an army of women and this complex of tunnels from which to spring ambushes…"

"Not to mention the crystals," put in Artie. "If they are what I think they are, they're worth far more than gold, and who knows how many of them are waiting to be mined out and sold to finance her every whim?"

Jim nodded. "And she also has a love philter, a pretty daughter, and the prince. I would say that those are the ingredients for her to become the power behind the throne."

"Especially as she believes that 'any Pterovnian woman' - by which she means, no doubt, herself - would be a better ruler than any man." Artie mulled that over, then gave a whistle. "Imagine the mother-in-law jokes our favorite baroness could spawn!"

"She will not be his mother-in-law for long, I fear," said Captain Koloshko.

"No doubt," Jim agreed. "She does seem to have a talent for arranging accidents for men whom she no longer needs."

"And she has the prince even now," said Artie, turning his eyes up toward the ceiling. "That means we…"

"What's that sound?"

The tent flap sprang open and Elenje burst in wringing her hands, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Petroshko!" she cried to her husband. "They have come for you!"

…

The guards swept into the tent city, scattering people and possessions before them. "The priest! Where is the priest?" barked Colonel Nevje.

An old woman rushed into one of the tents, and moments later, the venerable priest pushed the tent flap aside and stepped forth. "I am here. What do you wish with me?"

"You are to come with me!"

_Vachko _Petroshko eyed the woman inquisitively. "The baroness wishes to speak further with me perhaps? Is she now willing to listen to reason and permit these poor people to live once more in the sunshine?"

"Hush your prattling, old fool! You are needed at once! Put on your finest robes and bring your book."

"Finest robes? For what purpose am I needed then?"

Colonel Nevje's piggish eyes narrowed until they were almost non-existent. "For the baroness' purpose, of course, old fool! Now no more questions. _Veshte djo!_ Hurry and follow!"

Petroshko looked at her silently for a long moment, then turned and reentered the tent. Elenje was already fetching out his best robes and began to fuss over him. The two Americans, the priest noticed, were holding a quiet conference together. And now Mr Gordon stepped forward, took the robes from Elenje's arms, and said to the priest, "May I borrow your beard?"


	13. Act 4, Part 3

**Act Four, Part Three ~~~**

The colonel dragged the priest along by an arm, hauling him into the reception hall and shoving him toward the lectern. "My lady, he is here!" she proclaimed.

"Good, it is about time," said the baroness coldly. "Now, _Vachko _whatever your name is, here is my daughter and her young man, wanting to be married. Do the honors!"

"Petroshko," said the old man. "The name is _Vachko _Petroshko. And let me tell you," he added, looking at the daughter and her young man, "that usually it's the bride who is radiant and the groom who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here, but I think the two of you have it the wrong way around!"

Indeed, the groom was so euphoric, he looked rather like a love-struck calf. The bride, for her part, was timorous, glancing around nervously at the witnesses for this joyous occasion. With the exception of the priest and the groom, the room was filled exclusively with women: three or four dozen guardswomen, the mother of the bride, and the colonel.

"You are not here to think!" growled the colonel. "You are here merely to wed the happy young couple." She snatched the massive book from his hands and slammed it onto the lectern. "Wed them!"

"Hey, that's a very old book, and precious to someone! Be a little more careful with it, you vandal!" said the priest, twitching his robes back straight now that that odious woman had released his arm. "Oh, and happy, you say?" he added, giving the young couple another good once-over. "Well, the groom looks happy enough, but the bride looks like she just might faint, and would be happier if she did." He now did a double take. "Ah, and are these old eyes deceiving me, or is that the Crown Prince Stepanko?"

"You are not here to ask questions either!" snapped the colonel.

"I beg your pardon, young woman," the old man fired back at her, "but asking questions happens to be an intrinsic part of officiating at a wedding! The entire ceremony is me asking them questions and them giving me the right answers in return!"

"Be silent, old man!" That was the baroness. "When it is your time to speak, then you may speak. Other than that, silence!"

"Oh, and you, young lady," said the priest to the baroness, "have a lot to learn about behaving yourself respectfully towards a man of the cloth. Now…" He looked at the young couple before him. Clearing his throat, he took up the book and began sonorously, "Dearly beloved… Oh! But there's one thing before we start. Are you going to release the miners from the tunnels below this building, hmm?"

The baroness turned a particular unfetching shade of purple. "You dare speak to me of that now?"

"What better time?" the old man returned, a gleam in his eye. "In fact, until I have your assurance as a baroness and a lady - _and _a gentleman! - that the miners will go free and get the back pay you owe them, I think this wedding will not proceed." He snapped the book closed and laid it on the lectern, then folded his arms and matched the baroness glare for glare.

…

Meanwhile Jim, accompanied by Captain Koloshko, was ascending into the consulate by means of the secret passageways. They passed by the parlor, seeing through the two-way mirror there that the room was empty, and pressed on to the reception hall. Ah, this was the place. It was all but bristling with the guardswomen. They could see Prince Stepanko standing at the side of young Mireje, and flanking the couple were the baroness and the colonel, both of them opposing the old priest at the lectern.

Jim narrowed his eyes and gave this a bit of thought.

"I don't like the idea of fighting women," muttered Koloshko.

"Neither do I," said Jim. "But they chose to be the baroness' guards, so presumably they understood there might well be fighting involved…"

The captain, hearing West's voice trail off, glanced at him. "What is it?"

"A little plan," said Jim. And turning to the captain, he asked him, "What do you know about pressure points?"

…

Someone else was using the secret passage, sneaking along quietly, hoping his absence from the tent city below would not be noticed. Andreshko stopped and peered into the parlor once he reached it, hoping to find where Mr West had gone.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The boy leapt a foot in the air, then turned to see his governess. "Señora Reyes! You frightened me. What are you doing here?"

"Following you. Now answer my question."

"I… I wish to be there for Mireje's sake, of course," he squirmed.

"Ah, of course." She took hold of his hand. "Now, these secret passages, they will take us up to the nursery?"

"Y-yes, señora…"

She smiled at him. "Excellent. Then we shall return to the nursery, you and I." She glanced through the mirror and blinked. "Ah!"

"Ah?" The boy looked through the mirror as well. "What is it, señora?"

"I see that my knitting is still there in the parlor. I forgot about it, and I should like to have it to work on once we reach the nursery. How may we enter the parlor from here?"

Glumly, Andreshko found the latch and accompanied the governess as she went to retrieve her knitting bag.

…

All eyes were turned toward the old man by the lectern as he stood and stroked his long gray-streaked beard, smiling tightly at the baroness. And with all eyes on him, no eyes but his own saw a small door swing open in the back wall of the room, right beside the mirror. As Jim slipped out of the little door, the old man, knowing that he was in a perfect position to guarantee that all eyes stayed locked on him, suddenly slammed his hand down on the lectern. "Marriage!" he roared. "Marriage - what an institution! Marriage is not to be taken lightly, but you two," and he rounded on the young couple, "how long have you known each other, hmm? Three minutes?"

"I have known Mireshche most of my life," the prince protested.

In the back of the room, Jim slipped an arm around the guardswoman closest to him and pressed a certain point on the side of her throat. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she began to fall. Jim caught her and laid her gently on the floor as Captain Koloshko emerged from the same small door and moved toward another of the women.

"Oh, you have, have you?" said the priest. "But how long has she been your betrothed? Hmm?" And as the prince stammered with his answer - after all, the betrothal really had taken place only minutes before - the old man thumped his book once again. "Ha! A short engagement! I do not believe in short engagements, my friends! How can you be sure that you've chosen the right girl, hey? Tell me that! And you!" He now turned to the girl. "How can you be sure this is the right man for you?"

"Well, I…" said the girl.

In the back, Jim and the captain were making steady headway in thinning out the ranks of guardswomen. "They'll be stacking 'em like cord wood," the priest muttered under his breath, then dove right back into haranguing the happy couple. "How can you be sure he won't be making eyes at the next pretty face he sees, little lady? Men have roving eyes, you know. How faithful is he? Has he made a covenant with his eyes, like Job of old, not be looking upon any maidens? Has he? Or is he going to go off and start sweet-talking some little honey just as soon as your back is turned, my child, and _bam!_" He slapped the book again. "The honeymoon is over, and you'll be crying your eyes out and running home to Mama!" He glanced at the baroness, leaned in toward the poor girl, and added, "And ain't that a fate worse than death?"

Mireje didn't wait for all his dire predictions to come true, but burst into tears on the spot.

"You see?" the priest insisted. "You two aren't ready to get married. You're… you're, ah… Oh." His eyes strayed to the baroness, and he stammered to a halt.

"You will marry them," the baroness commanded, a derringer now in her hand and pointing straight at him. "And you will do so this instant. And if you do not, I will put a bullet right through your heart. Is that clear, _Vachko?_"

"Oh. Ah. Why, yes, dear lady. Clear as crystal." He blustered a bit, giving Jim and the captain time to remove a few more guards, then made a big show of clearing his throat. "_Ahem_. Ah, ah, _ahem_…" He turned his head and coughed into his closed fist. And as he did so, his other hand casually reached into a pocket and pulled out a small glass sphere which he flipped into the crowd of remaining guards.

_Pow! _The orb exploded, releasing a cloud of dense smoke.

Chaos ensued.

The priest dove at the prince, yanking him to one side. "Over there!" he hissed to the young man. "Go hide behind that screen!"

"Why, I know that voice!" exclaimed Stepanko. "You are not a priest at all!"

"Nope, I only play one on cases," Artie agreed. "Now get out of sight quickly before the smoke clears!"

"But Mireje! Where is my darling Mireshche?"

"Oh, you've got it bad," muttered Artie. "Go hide behind the screen, Your Majesty! I'll get Mireje."

"Thank you, my friend!" said the prince effusively, grasping Gordon's hand. Artie had to give the young fool a good hard shove to get him out of sight. And now the agent turned to spot young Mireje.

Meanwhile, Jim and the captain had waded into the remaining guards, doing their best to fight the girls without actually having to hit them. It wasn't easy, but it certainly was creative. Some of the girls, they found, when faced with an honest-to-goodness fight, blanched and immediately surrendered. Others fought, but the training they had had apparently fled from their minds and these were easily subdued.

But there were still plenty of the guards who did remember how to fight and did it well. One girl in particular was giving Koloshko an excellent workout, punching him to the point that she bloodied his nose. And then he caught her by the arm and whirled her into a group of her companions, knocking them all down like ten pins.

And Jim, turning from dealing with a pair of guardswomen by pulling a curtain down over their heads, found himself staring into the piggy eyes of Colonel Nevje.

"You are mine!" she hissed at him.

Jim smiled. "Bring it on!"

She did. Obviously she had learned from their previous sparring, for she did not try to charge at him anymore. Jim too had learned, for he caught her wrist as she aimed a round-house blow at him and relieved her of the blackjack in her hand. "Now, Colonel!" he admonished her. "You wouldn't want to take an unfair advantage, would you?"

Her other fist launched into the pit of his stomach. "No, never," she replied.

Artie spotted Mireje standing in the midst of the confusion, her arms tightly wrapped around herself, her face a mask of utter dismay. He called out her name as he dodged through the madness, ducking sideways as one of the guards tried to engage him in fisticuffs. This guard was plainly a determined young woman, for instead of being put off, she made a grab at the robed old man and caught hold of his beard.

The shock on her face as the whiskers came away in her hand was priceless. "Now look what you did!" Artie cried, and as the young guard gawked at him, he winked and held out a flower to her. The next moment a fine stream of yellow knock-out gas spurted from the flower and hit her in the face, giving her just enough time before she passed out to realize that she should never have accepted a flower during a fight, especially not from a man who was wearing fake whiskers.

Colonel Nevje leveled blow after blow against Jim, only to have him block or dodge them again and again. "Stand still and fight me like a man!" she snarled.

"Do you mean you want me to fight you as if you were a man, or that I should fight the way a man fights?" asked Jim.

"Both!" she growled.

"Fair enough." Jim's eyes locked on hers for a second. Then, as the woman aimed another jab at his face, he blocked it, rammed an elbow into her ribs, then finished her off with an uppercut that rattled the teeth in her head. Slowly, like the felling of a tree, she tumbled backwards and landed flat on the floor.

"Happy?" said Jim.

"I envy you, Mr West," said Captain Koloshko. "I had wanted to do that." Clapping his hands, the captain announced to the room in general, "All of you guardswomen are now under arrest in the name of the Crown!" And seeing that their leader Colonel Nevje had been knocked out cold, the women began raising their hands and surrendering.

Artie, meanwhile, turned from dealing with the flower girl to look for… ah… Where was Mireje? He frowned in puzzlement as his eyes roamed the room. Still not seeing her, he called out, "Hey, Jim! What became of Mireje?"

As the prince came out of hiding to help search for his beloved, Jim replied, "For that matter, what became of the baroness?"

It was true. Neither woman was in sight. Suddenly Koloshko pointed toward the mirror. "The door we came through is closed. I know I did not close it behind me. And you went through it first, Mr West."

Jim and Artie exchanged a glance, then both took off for the wall to find the switch that would permit them entrance again into the hidden passageway.

…

"_Mushche!_" Mireje gasped, struggling against her mother's iron grip. "What are you doing?"

"Be silent, you little fool!" the baroness hissed as she hauled her daughter along the secret passage. A secret passage in her own consulate that she had not known about! She seethed with fury even as she took advantage of the hidden corridor within the walls. "All you had to do was marry that idiot Stepanko, and the throne would have been mine. He would not have lived to see Pterovnia again, and as you are too stupid to know your right hand from your left, I would soon have stepped in to take care of the real matters of state while you would be the pretty little figurehead. Why did you not cooperate?"

"Cooperate! I did not know what you were doing, and why would I cooperate in wresting the throne from… You were going to kill him? So you did have _Vachko _and His Majesty King Zerildko killed!"

"Only now do your eyes open, Mireje! How true is it that the mother of a fool has no joy!" They reached a joining of the ways in the hidden passage, and the baroness stopped to consider which way to go.

"Mireje!" From the left, taking the baroness by surprise, appeared Andreshko. The boy darted to his sister, only to be shocked by the cuff across his face that his mother gave him. "What…?"

In hitting her son, the baroness had accidentally released her daughter as well. Mireje instantly grabbed Andreshko, pulling him with her as she turned to run back down the passage toward the reception hall.

"Ungrateful wretches!" snarled the baroness. Bringing out her derringer once more, she lifted her arm to aim the weapon at her own children. So focused was she on what she was doing as she began to squeeze the trigger, that she did not see the governess coming up behind her. Nor did she see the younger widow reach into her knitting bag and yank something from inside.

…

_Blam! _Jim and Artie, hearing the gun shot, charged even faster up the passage, rounding a corner and plowing straight into Mireje and Andreshko. "Are you two all right?" Artie asked as Jim ran on past them.

"_Dasda!_ Yes!" gasped the children.

"What was that gunshot then?"

They both shook their heads, and as the prince came dashing up the passage as well and swept Mireje into his arms, Artie left the children with him and hurried on after Jim.

Here was his partner slapping handcuffs onto the baroness. Here was the derringer dropped in the passageway. Here was Catalina leaning against the wall breathing heavily, her hand pressed over her heart. "What happened?" said Artie.

As Jim yanked the baroness after him to find a door out of the secret passage, Artie saw that there was blood streaming from the baroness' shooting arm. "What…?" He turned to the governess. "Cat, what happened?" He pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand.

"_Gracias_," she said softly, still catching her breath. "I…" She shook her head. "I was taking Andreshko up to the nursery, but he ran ahead of me. I heard voices, so I hurried to catch up, and when I came around this corner here, I saw the baroness with her back to me, aiming that gun at the children. She was going to shoot at her own children! What kind of mother is she?"

"She shot, yes, but she missed," said Artie gently.

"Oh yes, she missed. I made sure of that." And from the floor near the derringer, she picked up a pair of steel knitting needles covered with blood. "I could not let her shoot the children, so I stabbed her in the arm."

And now Catalina Reyes broke down sobbing. Artie wrapped an arm around her, softly shushing her as he led her out of the darkness of the passage and back to the reception room. There they found Captain Koloshko attending to the business of arresting all of the guards. Jim had custody of the baroness herself while the young prince was still comforting a thoroughly perplexed Mireje. As for Andreshko, the boy nearly collided with Mr Gordon and Señora Reyes as he ran back into the hidden passage, crying out, "Ah! I shall go let loose the miners!"

And from the east, fresh light was streaming in through the windows. The long night was over and the new day dawning.

**End of Act Four**

(Tag to follow)


	14. Tag

**Tag ~~~**

"But this is amazing!" said the prince, standing in the tunnels with Mireje at his side as he took in the extent of the underground complex. "And she kept all these miners down here along with their families, tunneling away, preparing all these extensive excavations in order to… to what?"

"Partly to be able withstand any attempts to force her and her women out of the consulate," Jim replied.

"Yes, and partly because in the midst of all the tunneling, the miners found a deposit of these." Artie passed the prince the handful of white crystals.

Stepanko examined them, then shook his head. "But what are they? Some sort of gem stone?"

"I haven't had the opportunity yet to examine them in a lab, but I'm pretty sure these are franconium," said Artie. "It's a very rare mineral and therefore very valuable. I'm sure the baroness had a lot of plans for the franconium, or at least for the money she could gain by selling it."

"Yes," added Jim. "And chief among those plans was the one to keep her neighbor beyond the back wall of the consulate grounds from knowing that these tunnels extend under that wall into his property."

"Oh," said the prince, handing the crystals back. "Then these do not belong to the Crown of Pterovnia, but to whoever owns the land under which it was mined."

"That's right, Your Majesty."

The young man sighed, then gave a radiant smile. "Ah well! Easy came, easy went, is that not what you Americans say?"

"Something like that, Your Majesty."

Stepanko looked around once more, smiling at the miners. He then made a brief speech to them in their native language which was received with cheers.

Jim leaned close to Artie, who explained, "He told them that they are free to return to their homes here in the United States, and that if any of them prefer to return to Pterovnia, they may do so at the Crown's expense."

Andreshko came and grabbed Mireje's hand, dragging her off to meet the authentic _Vachko _Petroshko and his family, leaving the prince alone. He watched the brother and sister for a moment meditatively, then turned to the Americans. "There is one thing more that bothers me, my friends. It is the matter of Mireje Gorashche. Her mother of course will be returned to our homeland in chains to face trial. And as Mireje and Andreshko are my cousins, I intend to take them home with me as royal wards. I have already asked their governess to accompany us and she has agreed."

"Oh?" said Artie and stole a look at Catalina. She smiled back at him faintly.

"But there is still the matter of… well, what precisely did Vazilje do to me to cause me to propose marriage so readily to her daughter? Not that there is anything wrong with Mireje. She is eighteen and of age to marry, and we are not so closely related as cousins to raise an objection there. It is just… Why did I propose so quickly? I would think that I would prefer to, ah, to take my time about making such a decision. Especially considering that I never did get to visit New Orleans!"

"How do you feel about the young lady now?" asked Jim.

A rhapsodic sigh poured forth from the prince. "Oh! She is heavenly! So lovely, so shy, so divine! I would marry her in a heartbeat! And… and yet…" He laughed. "I confuse myself over her. How could I be so completely, how do you say, heels over head like this? How does one fall in love so at first glance?"

"Well, my prince," said Artie, gesturing to a certain young lady of his close acquaintance from amongst the miners, "that doesn't usually come about unless one has had a little push in that direction. But let me assure you, Your Majesty, I have the cure for what ails you right here!"

The course of the next few seconds witnessed the sound of a lingering kiss, followed by a resounding slap, and after that blood-curdling hollering that terminated in an emphatic splash. And as the prince's Pterovnian oaths turned the air in the tunnels blue, Jim said to his partner, "You're a fiendish man, Artie."

"True, true. But the prince is cured now. He'll be just fine."

"I'm glad to hear it, but I'm not so sure about us."

"What do you mean, Jim?"

"Well, Artie, we're still on Pterovnian soil. Or under it."

"So?" Moments later the penny dropped and Artie's face went pale. "Oh. Ah…" He pointed down one of the tunnels. "The gate's unlocked on that one, right?"

_Vachko _Petroshko nodded. "God be with you, _Merinko_ West, _Merinko_ Gordon." The old priest held out a hand, but Artie hurried on past it.

"No time to shake hands, I think. Farewell then. It was good meeting you and your family. My gratitude to your wife for the cure. Cat my dear, _adios_. James my boy?"

"Yes, Artie?"

The Pterovnian curses were coming closer. "Um… Run!" And with Jim at his side, Artemus Gordon hightailed it out of the consulate.

**~~~ FIN ~~~**


End file.
